


But That's What Makes It Love

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Family, Friendship, Physical Disability, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:22:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 44,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: Beauty lies, more often than not, in the eye of the beholder. But what happens when a certain Derbyshire gentleman sees things in a completely different way? A Regency AU with an eventual HEA.





	1. The Meryton Assembly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know a story of Darcy having a physical disability has been done before (even though I can't remember where I read it). I hope this take will be fresh enough for everyone. Being married to a person with a physical disability has taught me to love in vastly different ways than my peers. While Darcy here does not have the same difficulty my husband faces, I hope my insights can be at least vaguely accurate. If I ever offend inadvertently, please do let me know. This story is extremely angsty, but I promise a happy ending. Happy reading!

 

The bustle of the assembly hall did not escape him. He grumbled, angry, at every turn. To his right, he found George guiding him, as both friend and assistant, towards the heart of their current social endeavor. To his left, he felt Miss Bingley's inevitable claws - her fingers anxious for any excuse to sink into his flesh.

He would always rue the day he allowed her to learn of his - disadvantages.

"I assure you I am well, Miss Bingley. You truly ought to enjoy the assembly," Darcy refused to move further beyond what his senses perceived to be the area for dancing. More than ever, he wished he had his friend's persuasion. "Your brother requires your support."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy!" Every word was a screech from Miss Bingley, her words crackling louder than the layers of her dress or the clanging of her jewels. Darcy had heard often of the unflattering descriptions George, Richard, and even Charles directed towards her wardrobe. Standing beside her as he did now, Darcy himself felt the edges of her billowing skirts brushing against his legs.

The sensation was unpleasant, to say the least.

"But if I were to dance and  _mingle_  with these - villagers - then who, pray tell, sir, would accompany you?" Her whining tones did nothing to ease Darcy's spirit. "Why, the crowd here is almost  _vulgar_. How can I leave you, Mr. Darcy, to the wolves!"

His impairments were not the kind to be easily distinguishable. To the untrained eye, his pupils moved as they should, his gaze focused as it ought to. Despite their lack of perception, his eyes still shifted towards wherever his mind set itself. He did not need her assistance in portraying a healthful man.

For those purposes, George more than sufficed.

The fact that Miss Bingley's proffered help was both unnecessary and unwelcome only rendered Darcy's situation more uncomfortable.

"Oh dear, my brother is dancing yet  _again_." There was a clucking in her voice that spoke of her disapproval. "Shall he never learn?"

Darcy commanded his face not to frown, his voice to level. "Is she unacceptable?"

"I - I would not be so quick to judge." There was a faltering in her tone - a window of opportunity.

"Then perhaps you ought to make the young woman's acquaintance. He may just fall for her beauty."

There was helpfulness, he found, in a thorough understanding of his friend's character. There was no doubt in Darcy's mind, even then, that Charles was for certain dancing with the prettiest girl in the room that very moment. There were things about perfect eyesight that drew young men to local beauties like moths to a flame.

If anything, Darcy was happy tonight that he himself was immune.

There were better things to do with his life than keep the supposedly handsome Miss Bingley company in a populated ballroom.

"I suppose you are right, Mr. Darcy - as you always are." He felt her hand brush his arm one last time - before her skirts rustled away.

Darcy heaved a sigh of relief.

Wickham, of course, laughed. "You are deft as ever, Fitz. God forbid that you may arm yourself with the power of vision as well."

This time, Darcy found himself smirking.

With twenty careful steps between them, George expertly guided him to a seat towards the side of the assembly hall. Darcy gratefully rested the back of his head against the wall. He hoped they had not aroused suspicion.

"Why could I not have stayed at Netherfield with Richard and Georgie?" He asked just softly enough to keep his words audible only to George.

George laughed again. He always laughed at everything. "You know full well that Bingley finds it his duty to attempt to enliven your life to the best of his abilities."

Darcy smiled. "I suppose I cannot attempt to alter his nature in one visit."

"Nor in a year."

They both chuckled. In the recesses of his mind, he remembered how George appeared as a child - golden-haired and cheerful. He had always been mischievous, never the angel. Yet, all the same, he had been fun.

"Do you wish to dance?" Darcy asked honestly. Far be it from him to keep his most faithful friend away from an activity he so preferred.

"And leave you alone?"

"Some water shall be company enough."

"Shall I request Charles to accompany you?"

"No - let him be." Darcy smiled, then sighed. "He is gladder where he is now, I am sure."

"Perhaps I ought to send for Richard?"

Darcy waved the thought off. "He had just arrived. Do not disturb him."

"And Geor - "

"She is not out. Do not consider."

George paused only very slightly. "Very well. I shall retrieve you a glass."

Darcy smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

His friend's footsteps disappeared quickly in the rambunctious country hall.

* * *

"Oh, sir, I'm so sorry!"

He heard her voice and felt her fingers on his thigh simultaneously. He straightened and pulled away instantly, anxious to add distance between himself and his sudden interlocutor. His state of body had created false cause for more than one single lady to attempt physical liberties that a perfect slate of health would not have permitted.

He was not about to start permitting such gestures today.

"Sir - again, I apologize." The lady's voice was young - almost vibrant. He could not tell if her apology was sincere.

The uncertainty cause him to frown.

"I - I observed your friends to be occupied, sir; and I wondered at your solitude for the past hour."

He felt a slight relief in her statement. There was, at least, no allusion to marriage or  _assistance_  of any sort.

He nodded as politely as he could. "You observe well, madame."

She did not answer right away, and he could only hypothesize as to the expression she currently bore.

"Would you wish for a bite, sir - perhaps some water?"

He turned slightly towards her. The scent that wafted off her smelled feminine - a hint of lavender, a touch of mint. The trajectory of her voice indicated that she was not tall - and her head hovered only slightly higher than his while he sat and she stood.

"You are kind to a stranger, madame," he answered vaguely. How long had George been gone? Where had his promised glass of water gone?

"I overheard your words - earlier tonight." There was a hesitation in her voice. For her altogether bold - if accidental - approach, she sounded nearly shy.

He leaned his head to one side. "I fail to understand - "

"Your companion referred to us as wolves, sir," she explained hastily. Darcy slowly remembered Miss Bingley's former comments. "I - I thank you for refusing to agree."

For the majority of his life, Fitzwilliam Darcy knew that whatever he spoke could be easily overheard. Given his sensory limitations, he had grown even more accustomed to avoiding gossip.

He never did know whether listeners stood close or far.

It was Miss Bingley's indiscretion - perfect vision notwithstanding - that surprised him.

"I do not know what to say." He began to ponder who it was that conversed with him. Truly, the company was welcome. Yet, at the very same time, life had granted him a lot that prevented him from trusting easily. Was this woman - this sudden acquaintance - single or married? Was she old or young? If, by sheer luck, his every surmise regarding her person had been correct - what of the traits his ears could not perceive for him?

And when would George return to be his eyes in proxy?

"Thank you, sir, for your civility."

Darcy nodded, unable to commit himself to further expression of any sort.

Silence ensued for another moment, causing him to wonder if his mysterious female companion had rejoined the dancing throngs.

"You do not dance, sir?" There was a clear question in her voice. He congratulated himself for not acting startled at her persistent presence.

He cleared his throat, shuffling slightly. "I do not dance."

"But your friend dances." She did not seem willing to accept his simple profession.

It did not take long for him to decide that she referred to Bingley.

Darcy almost smiled. "Mr. Bingley much prefers the act of dancing. I dare say he is dancing this very moment with the prettiest girl in the room."

She paused slightly, then said. "Thank you, sir."

Her reply confused him, and he frowned once more.

"Did you dance - with him?" He stuttered in his speech, unsure how to proceed without George's guiding remarks. Did people's faces truly speak as much as George said they did? A quick memory assured Darcy that faces did indeed often communicate more than words did.

"Your friend dances with Jane alone. I have not the pleasure."

He did not know if she complained or merely observed.

"You are friends with this lady?" He asked without thought.

There was a smile in her voice. "Very much so. Is your friend - a good man?"

The question, so ill prompted, disturbed him deeply. The natural defense in his spirit that she had worn down in the past few minutes quickly rose back to its usual place. He recalled how her hand had landed on his person earlier, and he remembered that she herself had never called the act an accident.

"I doubt you have much reason to wish to know, madame." His entire person stiffened significantly. He was anxious to be rid of her now. Fortune hunters had no room in his life - nor in his friends'.

"It is you and your friends, sir, who have descended upon  _our_ company. I merely ask out of concern and curiosity."

"Do you not find it rather inappropriate, madame, to ask so openly of another man?"

"Curiosity is hardly a fault, sir. I possess every right to ask after your friend."

"Because he is wealthy?" He knew a sliver of his own pain had seeped into his words. He knew that Bingley was friendly and good-looking - that women did not clamor for him only for his wealth, since he had so much more to offer. It was Darcy who did not have such privileged excuses to offer himself.

Yet experience - painful experience - had taught him that women who expressed interest in men upon first acquaintance could only be motivated by desire for the men's deeply-lined pockets.

The sage wisdom of repeated experience was difficult to ignore.

"I beg your pardon, sir!"

Whatever observational skills the lady may have - they clearly did not apply to his inner struggles.

He closed his eyes, frowning keenly.

There was a stillness in the darkness - a serenity in knowing that he had  _chosen_  the darkness of his own volition.

"My  _sister_ , sir - is no fortune hunter."

And with that statement, she loudly marched away.

* * *

**_Nineteen Years Ago_ **

* * *

The wooden floor creaked under his feet. He increased his speed slowly, testing each step. He hadn't run for so long - hadn't run since God took away his ability to see. In his mind, he still remembered the hallways - the corners and the rugs. He'd tripped twice yesterday.

It was Mother who insisted he should try again.

"Oh, Master Darcy!"

He reeled back at the last moment, just avoiding the items he heard crashing to the floor. All in all, he'd run for just ten steps.

"Fitzwilliam!"

He tried not to cry, tried with all his might. He felt his mother's arms surround him just when the tears came loose.

He was a smart boy, even though he cried. He knew Mother was watching him. He knew the maid forgave him because she had too. He knew he failed at running in his own home.

"Hush, Fitzwilliam. All will be well." Mother hugged him, soothed him. He wondered if Mother would cry today. She cried last year, when the doctor said he would never see again. "Oh, my son, my son."

Mother liked to call him that. She called him 'son' even more since he hurt his head last week.

"I can't run." He sounded like a babe. He did not like sounding like a babe.

"You are strong, son. You will learn," Mother promised.

"What if I keep hitting people?" He cried again. He worried. Would he never have friends? Would he never climb a tree or ride a horse or walk down the stairs by himself ever again?

"You won't, dear. You won't."

Mother never lied. He believed her.

Behind him, he heard servants talking - people cleaning. He knew he caused trouble, and he didn't like causing trouble.

"George will help you," Mother promised again. She put her hands on both sides of his. Her palms were warm. She smelled nice. "Do not run, then you won't be hurt."

He nodded repeatedly. He would obey. He would do anything to be normal again.

"My Fitzwilliam, my darling Fitzwilliam." Mother hugged him again. He cried on her shoulder. The embroidery on her dress tickled his cheek.

He would obey. He would be careful.

He would let George help him. Mother loved him. Mother wouldn't lie.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As warned, this will be one of my heaviest and most ambitious stories ever. Given the length and amount of world-building, I also struggled with maintaining good continuity. Please let me know if you've caught any honest mistakes. I hope the final results will prove worthwhile!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who signed up for my mailing list. The past four weeks have been a steep learning curve for me as a writer: forming a mailing list, formatting a newsletter, making covers that fit Amazon's specifications, making arrangements with a bank, on top of the usual editing and writing (I don't want to stop sharing new stories here just because some stories get published elsewhere.) Thank you, thank you to everyone who chooses to support this story or any of my other ones. You make all the hard work worth it!


	2. The Social Call

"Lizzy! Lydia! Mary - oh why  _must_ you carry a book  _all_ the time!"

Mama, energized by the view of the impending guests, ordered about the entire household - unhappy until she saw the very flurry of activities she had demanded. Papa sat where he had all morning, unfazed, his spectacles lowered until they nearly hung off the tip of his nose.

"Is it someone very important, Mama?" Elizabeth, for all her intelligence, had a tongue that cost her trouble every single day.

"Elizabeth, are you  _mad_!" Mama cried, predictable to the utmost. Behind the portly matriarch, Kitty and Lydia chose to quarrel over the lace instead of putting it away as requested. "Mr. Bingley might be here to  _propose_!"

Jane's kindness and eternal understanding bid her to protest. There was no possibility, of course, that the new tenant of Netherfield would be arriving to  _propose_   _marriage_ a single day after making one's acquaintance. Given Mama's frantic preoccupation to tidy up the sitting room, however, no on truly paid heed to Jane's said kindness and eternal understanding.

"Miss Bennet, what an honor!" Mr. Bingley, deposited far too soon in the midst of the flushed occupants of Longbourn, greeted Jane right after he did her parents. Dutiful as could be, he gave each subsequent sister his due attention before fixing himself beside Jane once more.

His sisters, overdressed and over-coiffed, bestowed their much less-desired scrutiny soon after.

Quite quickly, each family member fell to his own activity. In their own corner, Jane blushed prettily while Mr. Bingley chatted away with her in perfect friendliness. Mama, never far, hovered with a lovestruck look in her eyes. Mary, perhaps reveling in her newfound privacy now that Mama's focus had removed itself from her, returned to her trusted sermons. Kitty and Lydia provided well enough company for Mrs. Hurst while Papa spared them his occasional glances.

The entire family ran nearly as smoothly as a well-oiled carriage.

It was simply unfortunate that Elizabeth's role in running said carriage was keeping company with the least amiable guest today.

"Miss Elizabeth, your home is rather charming - is it not? Not nearly as fashionable as the houses in town, but I daresay it proves comfortable enough for the likes of you." There was a simplicity to Miss Bingley, Elizabeth observed. She did not strive to belittle. She merely did.

"Longbourn is, of course, near and dear to my heart." Elizabeth smiled, the last vestiges of her politeness drying rapidly.

"Well, nature often knows what it is doing, does it not?" Miss Bingley kept her face directed away from the sole person conversing with her - choosing instead to keep her gaze open towards the room, as if all of its occupants hung on her every word. "My dear brother, charming and handsome as he is, quite deserves the good fortune our father left us. Our dowries, I assure you, is everything as attractive as London's debutantes."

Why one would expose such mercenary measures of oneself was a rather simple mystery.

"Your sister has caught his eye, I see," Miss Bingley continued, the lack of reply notwithstanding. "I dare say he'll declare himself in love soon enough."

Elizabeth, remembering the tender words Jane had lavished upon Mr. Bingley before the sisters slept the night before, could not help feeling rather abused.

"Jane is everything sincere, I assure you." Elizabeth tried, truly tried, to avoid sounding bitter. One insult from the unnamed gentleman last night was trouble enough. She did not wish to have to dispute against another such claim quite so soon! "She would never use anyone ill."

Miss Bingley's laugh was harsh and loud. "You speak everything a sister ought, Miss Eliza."

For once, Elizabeth was quite happy her visitor did not face her.

"I see Hertfordshire does not hold much charm for you, Miss Bingley." She forced herself to navigate their words towards safer waters.

"Not at all." The lady was frank. "The place is simple enough - nearly backwards, one may say. Mr. Darcy himself agreed with me. Your family is all kindness, but the company otherwise is rather faulty."

Elizabeth swallowed the insult against her neighbors. "This Mr. Darcy you mention - is he the gentleman who accompanied you to the assembly?"

"Oh yes, the poor man - blind as a bat and lacking half the charm of his companion. Fate is kind enough to grant his future wife full reign over his sprawling estate, I suppose." The wistfulness in Miss Bingley's voice shouted her intentions from the mountaintops.

"Mr. Darcy is - unable to see?" Elizabeth's conscience began to complain.

"Not even a shadow, Charles assures me. I have tried, of course, plenty of times to bless the poor man with my company - so limited he is in his actions."

Elizabeth nodded mutely. Mr. Darcy - tall, handsome, reserved - his frown begat new meaning in her mind.

Had she truly approached a man already incapacitated - and judged him for judging with his limited abilities?

If he was as wealthy as Caroline Bingley inferred him to be - was it not natural for him to fear fortune hunters at every turn?

"His friend, Mr. Wickham, is charm itself, of course," Miss Bingley prattled on. "It is a shame the man doesn't have a shilling to his name!"

Elizabeth flinched slightly at the recollection of how Lydia had taken, quite quickly, to said Mr. Wickham's charms last night.

Full understanding of why Mr. Darcy lingered alone dawned upon her.

Elizabeth sighed, suddenly feeling rather overcome.

"What a waste it is to see, of course." Miss Bingley played the role of informant rather well, however unintentionally. "One would think a man so perfect could not have fault at all. It is a shame, truly, that Mr. Darcy cannot see half as well as his companion could."

Elizabeth answered only after the silence grew too long.

"Yes, of course, Miss Bingley. I dare say it is quite a shame."

* * *

Elizabeth knew, for the most part, that one may be considered impolitic for rolling one's eyes at one's guest. With the limited hours granted to each call, it was but fitting to be tolerant of one's visitors' views - however outlandish such views may prove to be.

Given Miss Caroline Bingley's tirade for the last thirty minutes, however, Elizabeth considered herself excused.

"And Miss Darcy, oh what a dear she is!" All the plumage in England could not accentuate Miss Bingley's exclamations any more than her current attire and gestures did. "'Tis quite a shame, I must say, that Mr. Darcy deigns her taken and unavailable for Charles!"

His chuckle, affected and hoarse, was not nearly as unladylike as the demeaning glint in her eyes.

"You see, Miss  _Eliza_ , it is the dearest wish of my heart that Miss Georgiana be united with my brother in marriage. Is it not horribly sad that she has been betrothed to her cousin - and thereby prove incapable of bringing our families such joy? I suppose it is inevitable that I must join the fray and be the means of uniting such  _suitable_ lineages as one."

Miss Bingley's sigh was eloquent - putting to shame the very greatest actors of the London stage. Elizabeth fought to suppress her untimely urge to giggle.

"You see, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley began her next paragraph of thoughts with much the same expression she used with the thirty ones before, "Mr. Darcy and his - shall we say -  _limitations_  have only proven him to be more needful of a stately woman who can govern all that he possesses. While my beloved Charles may not have the good fortune to create such  _desirable_  connections, it may still fall upon my person to achieve them."

Elizabeth wondered, with little effort at concealment, if Miss Bingley thought her own professions subtle.

Surely, an educated lady could not truly think such declarations proper at the slightest!

"Miss Bingley," Elizabeth spoke when she could, "Are Miss Darcy and her cousin also residing at Netherfield?"

The change in subject, attempted with every civility, succeeded in half its intent.

"Netherfield, though built in poor taste, shall do, I suppose," Miss Bingley lamented. "How much greater our hospitality can be in town! 'Tis a shame Charles insisted that his most prestigious guests join us  _here_."

Elizabeth smile, as well as her voice, was tight. "You do not enjoy Hertfordshire, Miss Bingley?"

"How could we when we - " Then, pausing, perhaps to think for the first time in the past ten minutes, Miss Bingley continued with a voice much more subdued. "Hertfordshire is lovely enough."

Elizabeth nodded, playing the part of a fool.

"And I trust your family and guests all think quite as highly of Meryton and its neighbors?" There was some satisfaction, she found, it allowing her mischievousness to run free.

Miss Bingley shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable. "I suppose so."

"You see, Miss Bingley." Elizabeth could not resist the echoing of her visitor's words. "Much of the people in our area believe that families who suit in lineage are far inferior to families who suit in temperament. If couples do fancy each other - there should be no impediment to their union."

Elizabeth knew, full well, that Miss Bingley saw her pointed look towards Mr. Bingley and Jane.

Still, the lady barreled on, undeterred. "I had always hoped, of course, that my dear Charles would find his heart's desire among the heiresses of the  _ton_. Our father's fortune, while generous, could hardly be relied upon to create a legacy which would be a source of pride for posterity."

"I see."

"Yes, of course. You see, Miss Eliza, our own dear parents had many hopes and dreams for their children. How precious we were to them! It is but right that we each marry well to make amends for my sister's choices."

Elizabeth's eyes widened at the realization that no one - not even her own flesh and blood - was immune from the censure of Caroline Bingley.

"My brother, you see, has always had many reasons to fall for feminine charms." Miss Bingley's hand landed on Elizabeth's. The Bennet sister looked up, surprised. "You need not worry that his constancy would suffer. Your sister, at least, appears unaffected by his advances."

Elizabeth frowned - slowly realizing, for the first time all morning - what Miss Bingley's true meaning was.

She moved quickly to defend her sister. "I assure you, Miss Bingley, there is no cause for alarm on your brother's part, at least. My sister is everything sincere."

The look on Miss Bingley's face was heavy with skepticism. "Your sister is not the first, I assure you, to capture my brother's fancy."

Elizabeth, remembering the weight of a promise long made, narrowed her eyes and insisted, "Then I can only hope she would be the last."

* * *

**_Eight Years Ago_ **

* * *

"Elizabeth, it is too long. I cannot read it!" Jane, and all the innocence in her eyes, lamented. Her golden hair cascaded down her back, glowing prettily against the whiteness of her dress.

Elizabeth laughed, her own previously white dress far from pristine. She lifted the contract in her hand. "It is an important document, Jane, and I cannot bear to leave out any details pertaining to our future happiness."

Charlotte, despite being older, joined their giggles. "You are being silly, Eliza. Why would we need to write out what our hearts already know?"

"And our hearts know - full well - that we shall marry only for love!" Elizabeth declared at the top of her lungs. Playfully, she danced in the small clearing - Jane at her heels.

"Lizzy, stop writing! We do not know what our future grooms would look like!" Jane frowned, looking truly worried. She could not run as fast as her sister, but she still tried very hard to catch Elizabeth. "We should not place ourselves in binding agreements."

Elizabeth laughed again. Three more rounds of running and pretending to scribble on her paper left her breathless, and she collapsed on the ground at last.

She leaned back against the side of the tree trunk. Charlotte sat down on the grass and did the same thing on her left. Jane, after some more frowning, lay down on her right.

Elizabeth smiled, happy to be with the bestest of her friends.

She tossed her broken quill aside. There had been no ink on it for some time.

Then she lifted her contract with both her hands, using the paper to shield out the sun.

"We, Charlotte Madeline Lucas, Jane Frances Bennet, and Elizabeth Theresa Bennet," she read aloud. Who cared if anyone heard them? "being sisters by birth or by friendship - of the strongest kind - hereby promise only to grant our hand in marriage to the best of men, whom we shall love dearly with all of our hearts. Said hereby future husbands shall be at least 5 feet and 6 inches tall, shall not weigh more than our fathers, and shall be handsome and rich. (They do not need to be particularly rich but need to be very handsome). We shall each marry in Meryton and not serve tongue at the wedding breakfast. We will wear white and be completely in love with our husband. A man who does not ask properly will not be approved. All parties must approve of a groom before a bride can agree to being proposed."

Elizabeth smiled when she reached the end. All that remained to do was to affix their signatures.

"We hereby state our agreement." Elizabeth turned and pointed to the part of the paper intentionally left blank.

Solemnly, Charlotte used the twig she found to sign her name in bark. Elizabeth followed, looking everything regal. Jane, despite her protests, sighed and signed by dipping Elizabeth's quill in a flower's nectar.

With their agreement thus solemnized, Elizabeth screeched in happiness and began her dancing once more.

This time, Jane did not chase her - and it was rather less fun running about by herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about anyone else, but I constantly dreamt up and created strange contracts as a child (as did my uncles and aunts when they were kids). Do indulge my re-imaginations of our favorite characters' childhoods! I hope Caroline Bingley was at least entertaining in this chapter.
> 
> In other news, I am delighted to share that my three books have been rereleased! They have brand new covers now and, while still not linked to my Goodreads account, are now available on the Kindle store if one searches by title and author name (Iris Lim). Thank you again to everyone who keeps supporting my stories, whether here or on Amazon. I love hearing from you!


	3. The Welcome Visitors

Despite the many days since their arrival at Hertfordshire, Darcy had not - not once - chosen to accompany the Bingleys in their neighborly calls. The choice was not for lack of invitation, for Bingley was nothing but consistent in his persuasions. Neither was the choice a result of Miss Bingley's presence - though her promised company did nothing but solidify his resolutions. Netherfield, for all its limitations, was a cozy place to be for this particularly visit. Georgiana filled the halls with lovely music. Richard enlivened the evenings with his witty remarks. George, faithful and astute, tended to his every need - more than a valet, dearer than a friend, and almost a brother.

Darcy was content, as he ever was, to find distractions as they offered themselves. He smiled whenever Richard and Georgiana teased each other, hearing each romantic undertone ring louder than Richard's denials. He schooled his face into frowns instead of grimaces whenever Miss Bingley, perhaps believing her advances too subtle, nearly literally threw herself into his lap every other evening. He listened patiently to Bingley's praises of his newfound angel - and could only feel regret that he could not witness in person the great beauty Bingley described.

Ever since that fateful night before his childish fever broke, Darcy's physical limitations had rendered life much simpler than it would otherwise have been. The gardens of Pemberley existed only in his memory and under his walking stick. London's debutantes could not impress him no matter their attire. While he was unsure if he would ever marry, he seldom met women beyond his own circle - among which Miss Caroline Bingley was a most unpalatable but sadly accurate example.

Such examples only served to increase his hesitation to entertain the concept of marriage at all.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, sir, madame."

The announcement roused Darcy from his reflections.

"Why, do let her in, of course." Bingley exclaimed from his side of the room.

Miss Bennet slept upstairs, Darcy suddenly remembered. Miss Bingley's many protests had informed him of Miss Bennet's shivering state when she'd arrived for tea yesterday afternoon. There had been no delay on the part of his hosts in settling Miss Bennet into her own room and providing her every possible sort of medical attention at hand. While the lady's gentle sniffs had not proven any cause for alarm for Darcy, he chose to suppose that her physical state perhaps appeared much harsher to the human eye.

"Mr. Bingley, Miss Bingley, Mr. Hearst, Mrs. Hearst," a feminine voice began to greet soon after the corresponding footsteps led her into the room. "Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy, Mr. Wickham, and - Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

Darcy heard Richard, Bingley, and the two sisters greet her in reply.

There was a familiarity in the woman's voice - though he knew he had not been introduced to her before.

"Miss - Elizabeth?" Darcy ventured. He sensed, almost heard, all the occupants of the room turn to watch him.

Slightly uneasy, he cleared his throat.

Their visitor responded before he could speak again, "Mr. Darcy, I - it is a pleasure to see you again."

Darcy nodded, unable to reciprocate the sentiment.

"Mr. Bingley," the new arrival addressed his friend, her face and voice turning towards the other side of the room. "I apologize for my incivility - but I am afraid my mission here today proves more familial than neighborly."

"Your sister - of course!" Darcy heard Bingley springing to his feet. "Come, I shall lead you to her immediately. We dearly hope the herbs in her tea have assisted her recovery."

Darcy listened, curious, as Bingley guided a clearly anxious but apologetic Miss Elizabeth towards her sister's guest room. He observed, rather mischievously, Miss Bingley's quick disapprobation of their new visitor and Richard's subsequent quick defense of Miss Elizabeth's kindness. With candor, George whispered to him the state of Miss Elizabeth's clothes upon her arrival. Georgiana, hearing their whispers, expressed her support immediately. It was, of course, natural for a younger sister to care so much for her older sibling. It was nature itself!

Darcy, content in his disinterest once more, only nodded.

* * *

The past days had been pleasant, if rather mundane. Every day, George would report on the sight of Miss Elizabeth rounding out the gardens. Every day, Miss Bingley would criticize their guest's preference for the outdoors while her brother inquired diligently on the state of Miss Bennet's health. Every day, their party of nine would dine together while Miss Bennet rested upstairs.

Every evening, the men and women would choose to reunite soon after separation. Every night, Georgiana's hands would fill the hallways with celestial music. Every night, without fail, Darcy would speak with Miss Elizabeth - taking turns as they remarked upon the weather, upon the temperature of the room, or upon Miss Bennet's incremental recovery.

Every day, her voice reminded him of someone - perhaps the teasing of some past, fleeting acquaintance. Every day, he chose not to tell her that he had been awake when she slipped outdoors that morning. He had been awake each time, every morning, waiting patiently for George to rouse and aid him.

It had not been until this morning, when she stated how her sister did not need further assistance for breakfast, that the cogs in his mental machine had clicked into place.

Bingley had been mentioning Miss Bennet since the assembly.

It was strange how long it took Darcy to understand which exact sister of the divine Miss Bennet this intriguing Miss Elizabeth was.

"Mr. Darcy!"

The cry startled him, and he quickly sat straighter in his chair. The library walls felt closer than they had before.

"Mr. Darcy, if I may - have a moment of your time - please."

He only frowned slightly. The voice was  _hers_  - of that he had no doubt.

"Miss Elizabeth, I apologize for my inability to rise and grant you your proper greeting." He did not know how long George had been gone. Perhaps the grounds Bingley mentioned truly had been too pretty to miss. Darcy did not mind the solitude. Even a dearest childhood friend could not accompany him at all times. Some things were inevitable. "My assistant, it seems, is still touring the estate with my friend."

She did not reply, and he almost wondered if she, perhaps discovering their unchaperoned state, had already quit the drawing room.

Then she heard her sigh, pace, and shove herself on to a nearby chair.

Now he frowned in truth. "Miss Elizabeth?"

"I apologize, Mr. Darcy - oh, how I've been wishing to for days!" Her voice carried passion, indomitability. "I fear your - condition had been revealed to me rather belatedly in our acquaintance. It was but natural that you did not cipher Jane's true feelings that night. I apologize most heartily for my misunderstanding and contempt."

He heard every sincerity in her voice, and nodded briefly.

"I've tried repeatedly, sir, to attempt your private attention all these days - but Mr. Wickham has been  _faithful_  in accompanying you," she continued, clearly unfinished. He heard cracking joints, perhaps her wrists. "I feared I may have added further indiscretion to my existing follies, sir, for waiting so long before offering my apologies."

"No - please, do not say so." He chose his words carefully, anxious to avoid any repeat of their first encounter. He rested his right hand on the arm of his chair. "I fear I must be the one to apologize, madame, for accusing your sister and family with little cause to do so."

She did not respond immediately, and he hoped her silence manifested an acceptance of his apology.

"You have my forgiveness, sir - if you promise yours."

Fitzwilliam Darcy, eternal victim of manipulative women, found her candor beyond refreshing.

He extended his hand before he knew what he did. "Miss Elizabeth, I cannot withhold - "

"Thank you."

He felt her fingers - slender and feminine - grasp his. The way his body warmed and woke at her touch surprised him. She let go before he could fully clasp her hand. Awkwardly, he folded his arm back to his side.

For a few moments, neither of them spoke.

"Mr. Darcy," she spoke first, many minutes later. "You prove yourself to bear the mark of a true gentleman by greeting my foolishness with such graciousness."

"And you, Miss Elizabeth, are every bit a lady."

In his mind, he imagined her smiling.

"Your friend Miss Bingley, sir, would beg to differ with your assessment." There was a joyful lilt to her voice - youthfulness, vibrance. He smelled it again - the scent of lavender, mingled with mint. "Your sister, it seems, is the only woman alive to meet Miss Bingley's standards of what a true lady ought to be."

Darcy smiled. "A life lived upon Miss Bingley's perspectives is a sad life indeed."

"And what of a person with yours?"

"Mine?"

"In your - particular circumstances, sir - you  _must_ notice things the rest of us do not. Your perspective must prove unique."

He smiled more. "You believe me to have such powers."

"Wise observations are hardly  _powers_ , sir."

"And yet you attribute them to me."

"No more than I attribute them to myself."

"I am humbled, madame, to be considered your equal."

He didn't know if she returned his smile, but he did hear her chuckle.

The sound was satisfactory - and very warm.

When he spoke again, there was a hope in his tone that had not been there since he first confirmed her identity. "Given your generous assessment of my person, Miss Elizabeth, may I be bold enough to ask for your friendship? I understand I may not have earned this distinction upon my own merit."

"But you have, sir," her reply was instant. "Your sister, though lovely, and your cousin, though lively, have not half the keenness of your insight."

The feeling of receiving a  _compliment_  for his  _person_ was overwhelming. Here was a woman who had not once mentioned his estate - or his family or his face. She did not fawn or flirt. Apart from her first accidental brush against him - and their friendly, fleeting touch today - she had not once attempted to attach herself to him physically.

In addition, she spoke highly of his  _mind_.

She was beginning to prove more than refreshing.

"Your compliments, madame," he said shakily, "give me hope that your friendship is attainable."

He loved the way she laughed.

"Very well, sir, you have worn me down. I promise to renew our acquaintance with every vigor - and promise to be your friend."

* * *

_**Twenty Years Ago** _

* * *

"Mother - please." He knew he was crying, but frankly didn't care. "Mother, why can't I run and play with George and Richard? Richard never ever comes anymore."

He felt the nurse wipe his ankles. The water felt painful on his skin.

He tried not to shake  _too_ hard.

"Son, please - do not insist on what hurts you!"

Mother was never angry, but she sounded angry now.

Darcy cried. "Richard and George are in the garden, but you want me to stay inside!"

"What they are doing is dangerous," Mother said again.

"I do not care. They're my friends! Mother, shall I never have friends again?" For one moment, the idea of life going by without  _any_ friends made his little heart break.

"You will have friends, Fitzwilliam, the  _right_ friends."

"Richard and George are my friends!"

"Yes, but not this way, son. You cannot climb trees and swim in the lake and ride a horse or - "

"He will, Anne - he will."

Darcy paused, a little awed, at the sound of his father's sure footsteps and level voice. Mother was always kind; Father always just.

"He must still learn."

He felt Father's voice beside him, Father's hand on his back. The powerful scent of oak and wax and some spice he couldn't name surrounded him.

"He will not lose his friends," Father assured.

Darcy let go and leaned against his father, relieved.

Father hugged him. "You will not lose your life just because you lose your eyes, son."

Fitzwilliam nodded again and again. He wanted very much for Father to be right.

"But George, he cannot play! It is - not safe." Mother knelt beside them, hugging them both.

Fitzwilliam wanted to cry again.

"Hush, dear, he will be - " Father patted his head again. "Some methods may have to change - but they can rekindle their acquaintances anew. Old friends, son, can be new friends too."


	4. The Flirtatious Upstart

The days in Netherfield, despite Miss Bingley's constant ill-concealed barbs, passed by pleasantly enough. Armed by her newfound knowledge of Mr. Darcy's true condition, Elizabeth found compassion in herself for the poor man. He was polite, if assuming, and could only be forgiven for having such finite means in observing people. His sister - trusting and sweet - was a delight to Elizabeth, and she often joined the young girl in chuckling over Miss Bingley's offenses.

Mr. Bingley, everything charitable, was particularly concerned with Jane and asked often after her health.

The smile that graced Mr. Bingley's face when Jane participated at the dinner table at last was irrepressible. The man beamed of goodness and sentiment.

He loved Jane - that much was clear.

Two small, discreet moments of observation were enough to inform Elizabeth that Jane perhaps loved him just as much as he did her.

"You are certain your sister feels similarly to my friend?" Mr. Darcy asked when Elizabeth, entranced by the scene before her, muttered her observations to whoever sat beside her.

She was lucky Mr. Darcy could not witness her blush.

"She seems fond of him, of course. Your friend is perfectly amiable." Elizabeth found a sort of relief in the fact that controlling her voice before him was sufficient for portraying calm emotions. "They do look finely suited."

Mr. Darcy, sitting tall, still, and serene, smiled. "You sound fairly confident, Miss Elizabeth."

"I have every right to be, sir." It was her turn to smile. "Do we not all possess certain abilities in deciphering the emotions of those nearest and dearest to us?"

The man beside her nodded solemnly. "You read your sister as I read mine. Georgiana is an open book."

The answer assured Elizabeth of his agreement, and she returned her gaze to the different individuals in the room.

The party was large - larger than she was accustomed to. In the corner, Mr. Hurst alternated between sipping from his glass, nibbling on his sweets, and snoring from his chair. Mrs. Hurst, adequately accompanied by her sister, chatted away with Miss Bingley and Jane. Mr. Bingley, loyal and true, sat beside Jane - looking after her with kindness and passion in his eyes.

From the piano, Miss Darcy weaved the most beautiful music throughout the room. By her side, Colonel Fitzwilliam stood faithfully.

Elizabeth smiled. "Your sister's heart, Mr. Darcy, is not hard to discover."

A short look of discontent flit through his face - before his gentleness returned. "It is clear to me whom she prefers."

"And your brotherly ways do not censure her hopes?"

"I am insufficient, I am afraid, in sheltering and protecting her as I must." A hint of remorse touched his voice, if not his face. "Heaven is kind to give her Richard."

"Do you believe they suit?" Elizabeth glanced at the couple. The lady smiled sweetly at her cousin, tenderness filling her entire being. The older soldier, perhaps tired from his many campaigns, smiled civilly in return.

"I can think of no better protector for Georgiana," Mr. Darcy said beside her.

Elizabeth looked dutifully back at him. Despite his inability to see it, she smiled nonetheless. "We all wish but the best for our sisters."

"You consider Bingley the best for her," he concluded for her.

Elizabeth, surprised at his perception, nodded. "I suppose I do. And you, Mr. Darcy - prefer your cousin."

He chuckled, fingers readjusting on his walking stick. Pretenses of health were unnecessary within Netherfield. "You speak as if I prefer for him to marry  _me_."

Now, Elizabeth laughed. "Would he not prove a faithful companion?"

"The most faithful of them all."

"Would his loyalty and family not bring honor to the Darcy name?"

"My uncle is an earl. It is an honor indeed."

"His dowry, I assume, leaves little to be desired."

"Much to be desired, milady." Mr. Darcy smiled. "It is practically non-existent!"

Together, they laughed.

By herself, Elizabeth pondered the sadness of her own state - where a dowry truly barely existed at all.

"Miss Elizabeth, have I caused offense?" Mr. Darcy's voice was curious, almost sad, when he spoke again.

Elizabeth sighed. "No, not at all. You are not to blame for the sad state of my family's affairs."

Mr. Darcy frowned. "Your sister is the epitome of kindness. Her reaction to the revelation of my limitations proved as much."

"Jane is the kindest of them all, sir. I dare not vouch similarly for the rest of the members of my home."

"Is your father not an intelligent man? I have heard you speak of him often."

"He is - intelligent and keen."

"Are your sisters not lively? Georgiana has told me often that she wishes to visit."

For a few passing moments, Elizabeth almost admired the innocence of the young, curious girl.

"They are lively indeed," Elizabeth answered. Around them, the other occupants of the room flitted about in their well-oiled social dance. Here, on this couch, she was inadvertently revealing her every thought to her new, strange friend.

Elizabeth sighed again.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"I am well - I assure you, sir. It is entirely my fault for causing you alarm."

He nodded but frowned, clearly unconvinced.

She almost wished she could lay her hand on his arm, nudging him in evidence of her sincerity.

"You are unusually disposed, Mr. Darcy, towards speaking well of my family. I dare say you belong to a rare breed."

He paused slightly. "A very rare breed, Miss Elizabeth."

"Oh, no - sir, I did not mean to pertain to your - "

"No, it is no matter."

"I meant no offense! Mr. Darcy, you are everything wise and admirable. How could I - "

"George assists me in everything, Miss Elizabeth. I could hardly pretend I am of the same caliber as the other men who occupy this - "

"Mr. Wickham is nowhere to be seen!" Elizabeth cried. The edges of her eyes caught glimpses of people turning to watch her. She inhaled deeply and spoke as calmly as she could, "You are capable, Mr. Darcy, of doing whatever you wish to do."

The clock clicked into the hollow silence.

Then, to Elizabeth's grand and great relief, Mr. Darcy nodded. "You are kind to compliment me so, madam."

She nodded repeatedly, profusely. Mr. Wickham was absent often from his master's side. How dare he allow his employer to think himself inadequate for needing the assistance of a man who was so very often not even there!

"Miss Eliza." Miss Bingley's shrill voice travelled the span of the room with ease. "Have you been disturbing our  _dear_ Mr. Darcy?"

Elizabeth sat quietly, surprised. "I - I meant no disturbance, Miss Bingley. If I had not assumed Mr. Darcy preferred my company, I would not have - "

Her explanation trickled away into her thoughts.

How  _had_ she found herself seated with Mr. Darcy tonight - and the many evenings since their conversation in the library?

She had never consciously attempted to seek his company.

Did he attempt to seek hers?

"What a preposterous thing to assume, Miss Eliza!" Miss Bingley erupted, hands in the air. "I have perhaps failed as a hostess to allow you to inopportune our guest so often."

Elizabeth swallowed, suddenly fully aware that Miss Bingley tracked the movements of her friends each night.

"Miss Bingley, I assure you - "

"Miss Elizabeth assumed quite rightly," Mr. Darcy interrupted. The fact that he spoke in company at all - much more while other people conversed - surprised everyone into silence. Mr. Darcy inclined his head towards the direction Miss Bingley occupied. "I  _do_ prefer Miss Elizabeth's company, Miss Bingley, for she is an unexpected, wonderful friend."

"But she - "

"There is no reason to shun her or her family for their connections alone."

The declaration surprised Elizabeth. Why  _would_ Mr. Darcy have been spending thought on her connections?

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Bingley chimed. Her voice had begun to descend into a more venomous sound. "I had thought you capable of warding off the most flirtatious of flirtatious upstarts."

Elizabeth clenched her fist. The back of Mr. Darcy's fist brushed against hers.

"I hope I  _am_ capable, Miss Bingley." His voice was thin, severe. "Now, if you will, madam, I shall need to find George and settle myself into my chambers."

"Mr. Wickham is incapable, it seems. I can assist you, Mr. Darcy, for I have - "

"No!" Mr. Darcy thundered. Elizabeth watched in surprise as Miss Darcy shuddered - and Colonel Fitzwilliam edged closer to where Mr. Darcy sat. "I shall need no help."

Surprising Elizabeth, Mr. Darcy hurled himself off the couch, on to his feet, and - with only slight support from her feminine hands - righted himself and wandered away.

The anger in Miss Bingley's eyes made Elizabeth grateful she and Jane were expected to return home the very next day.

* * *

"Oh Jane, my Jane, how stupendous of you to secure that invitation!" Mama cried for perhaps the third time today.

Despite sending Jane on horseback being her idea, their mother seemed intent to share the merit of the idea with her eldest child. Her exultations had begun the moment of Jane and Elizabeth's arrival this morning - and had not stopped since. As the family partook of dinner, Elizabeth wondered at Mama's tenacity.

"Elizabeth was kind to stay with me," Jane replied, ever generous. Her smile, while still weak, recovered by the hour. "I hope she enjoyed herself with the Bingleys."

Elizabeth smiled, grateful for her sister's consideration.

"Mr. Bingley was everything amicable, of course. I do believe you and he would suit plenty." Elizabeth teased.

Elsewhere on the table, Papa smiled from his place, Mama nearly cried, Mary frowned, Kitty sighed, and Lydia - perhaps discontent by everyone's open admiration of Jane - began loudly, "I have found my husband as well!"

All eyes gratuitously turned themselves to Lydia.

The young girl preened. "Mr. Wickham is everything lovely - so handsome and charming."

"Mr. Wickham - Mr. Darcy's aide?" Elizabeth responded immediately. "He is not a man of character, Lydia."

"Nonsense, Lizzy, you're only jealous of me." Lydia fluttered her eyelids as if they could manage to make her fly. "George is  _everything_ a man ought to be."

"Lydia, you ought not to be so familiar!" Elizabeth made no secret of how appalled she felt. Her food lay on her plate, forgotten. "You barely know the man."

"I know him plenty! You and Jane were so  _boring_ to be trapped in Netherfield for so long. I met my lover  _every day_."

"Lydia!" Elizabeth heard her father's stern reprieve occur simultaneously with her own exclamation.

"Mr. Darcy is not to be trusted, Lizzy," Lydia battled on, undeterred. "His father, who was a steward, made an evil scheme with the midwife who bore testimony that let him steal poor Mr. Wickham's birthright and usurp him as master of Pemberley! The family believed the entire falsehood only because he was blind and sad!"

Elizabeth, unable to contain her indignation further, shoved herself away from the table and off her chair. She turned to glare at Lydia, hoping against hope that perhaps  _they_ were mistaken - and Lydia wasn't truly her sister.

"You do not know a thing about these men," Elizabeth chided. She avoided the sentimental draw of Jane's wide, teary eyes. "How can you believe a profession so preposterous?"

"Your Mr. Darcy is nothing but a trickster." Lydia both sneered and pouted.

"I do not see why your claims could be true."

"Lydia speaks wisely, Lizzy," Mama interrupted. The embarrassment of being corrected over Lydia was nearly too overcoming to bear. "God knows what blind Mr. Darcy says is true or not. We do not know the man! Mr. Wickham sounded sincere enough."

"But you do not know him either!" Elizabeth cried. Conversations she had shared with Mr. Darcy floated through her mind. The man had sounded learned, wise. His coloring, while dissimilar to Georgiana's, did not strike her as  _too_ different for siblings.

God knew how few features she herself shared with Jane.

"Do  _you_ know Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?" Lydia shouted at her sister. Netherfield and its stuffy sitting rooms - even with Miss Bingley's complaints - appealed to Elizabeth more than they ever had.

"I can judge his character well," Elizabeth muttered. Her fists remained clenched at her sides.

"And how is  _your_ judgment better than  _mine_?" Lydia whined. Elizabeth wondered helplessly if Lydia heard her own tones at all.

"Lydia is right," Mama insisted again. "Mr. Wickham visited thrice when you were gone, Lizzy. The man spoke truth in every word."

"He was here because he was neglecting his master!" Elizabeth's eyes nearly watered at the thought of Mr. Darcy the previous night - staggering to his room in his attempt to thwart Caroline Bingley's attempts at assistance.

"Because Mr. Darcy is  _not_ his master. Lizzy, you are unreasonable!" Mama huffed when she spoke. "Mr. Wickham has told us the truth of the matter. You need not hide behind Mr. Darcy's lies."

Elizabeth sniffed, then sighed. Between Mama and Lydia - their home was never a place for knowledge and character.

"Lizzy," Papa's voice emerged over the feminine murmurs, "do you wish to be excused?"

Her head spun, her thoughts wandered. Despite their inauspicious beginning, she and Mr. Darcy had found friendship, camaraderie. There was no reason for her to doubt his character thanks only to Mr. Wickham's outlandish claims.

Elizabeth shook her head.

"Do you prefer instead to stay? You do not appear hungry, Lizzy dear." Papa knew her - always did.

Then, suddenly realizing the generosity of his offer, she smiled gratefully at her father. "I apologize for my outburst, sir."

He nodded understandingly.

"Papa, Mama - if I may - please allow me to be excused."

* * *

_**Six Years Ago** _

* * *

"When  _did_  you meet Mama?" She leaned over Papa's desk, still wholly engaged by the letter on his desk. "Did you write many letters to her when you did?"

Papa chuckled heartily and patted her shoulder. "You are a curious one, aren't you, Lizzy?"

"Is it wrong to wish to know, Papa?" She felt rather offended. Her questions had been nothing but honest and true.

"You are growing older, child." Papa looked at her gently, as if he wished to say something with his eyes. "It is but natural that you are curious, I suppose."

She sat down carefully on the chair beside his desk. Papa had been most talkative when she had asked him of the letter this morning, but he was strangely quiet now.

"Lizzy, child - would you be angry at your father if I were to admit to another great love before your mother?"

Elizabeth sat straighter, surprised. Still, she composed herself most impressively. "You loved another woman, Papa?"

He laughed when he sat closer to the back of his chair. "I suppose one could say so."

"And this letter was from her?" She peered at the most fascinating letter again. Its contents had been innocent - just flowery professions of love written in a flowing, feminine hand. But then Papa had found her reading it, expressed his disapproval, and then began to laugh.

"Yes, it was the last we exchanged," Papa admitted.

"Was she very pretty?"

"Not as pretty as your mother."

"Was she kind?"

"In her own ways - yes."

"Was she smart and beautiful and everything a princess ought to be?"

Papa smiled at her then, looking particularly amused.

Elizabeth blushed slightly - and returned her eyes to her own lap.

"Maria Redford was an outstanding woman in her time," Papa spoke on, as if her outburst had not worried him. She listened - a captive, willing audience. "We were engaged to be married when we exchanged these letters. It was simply unfortunate that I was not the only man with whom she corresponded."

Elizabeth looked quickly at her father, startled at the revelation.

"She betrayed you?" She asked with utter dismay. For one short moment, she did not think of this woman as someone whose departure had ensured her own existence. This was a woman Papa loved - but who did not love him back as she had ought to. "Did she elope? Did you pursue her? I can't imagine she would do such a thing, Papa."

Her father nodded calmly, untouched by what distressed her now.

"Life seldom works out as the books do, child," Papa spoke both solemnly and lightly. He was a strange man, at times. "She broke off our engagement for her other lover, and lives as Mrs. John Mason to this day."

Elizabeth frowned, unhappy that Papa spoke so carelessly of such grave wrong against him.

"Is she miserable, Papa?"

"Miserable? I wouldn't suppose so - no."

"Is her husband very ugly and mean?"

Papa chuckled. "I have not met the man, but I have received no reports of his unending hideousness."

Elizabeth pouted, most genuinely disturbed.

Papa pressed a hand to her shoulder. "Why are you unwell?"

"It is not fair, Papa - that villains live so happily after their crime."

Papa smiled. "She was not so much a villain."

"But she spurned you, Papa! She took your heart and abused it so."

Now, Papa's laugh was hearty indeed. "But her actions opened my eyes to her lack of character - and I have never had cause for regret that I had not married her."

Elizabeth's mind, anxious for vengeance mere minutes before, took on an entirely new form on fascination.

"You do not hold her actions against her, Papa?"

"No - never. Beguiling though she may have appeared, she had a cold heart - and I was glad not to have married her."

"And Mama has a very warm heart," Elizabeth said, nearly to herself.

Papa nodded. "Mind and manners, appearances and charm may all be lovely at first, Elizabeth, but it is a person's heart that makes a home."

She listened slowly to her father's wise words.

"We must only marry people with good character, then?" She asked a moment later, her mind a thousand miles away.

Papa nodded, looking rather satisfied. "Yes, indeed, Lizzy. You must marry only a man you could describe thus."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has been so kind and positive about this story. For those who caught my honest mistakes, thanks so much for pointing them out to me. I'll be fixing them when I can! Every time I read a comment stating what a reader likes specifically, I am so, so much more encouraged and empowered to write - so thank you SO MUCH to the readers who have responded with your wonderful support.


	5. The Netherfield Ball

For most of his tedious young life, Richard Fitzwilliam had lived as a man of inevitability.

His family ordained his name, his younger status his career. His father dictated his sources of learning. His mother defined the characteristics his future wife ought to possess. His cousin's unfortunate loss of eyesight demanded that he make full use of his own health; his older brothers' habits demanded that he watch them closely, lest bastard Fitzwilliams be as innumerable as sand upon the shore.

He took to his predestined stations dutifully enough, and he seldom - if at all - breathed a word of complaint to his family. All members meant well - even Mother and her hints regarding each new debutante, even Darcy and his irresolute belief that his cousin would wed his sister one day.

Tired, as he often was these days without the thrills and dangers of war, Richard leaned his head back against the high back of his rather remarkably comfortable chair. To the eyes of the public, he was Colonel Fitzwilliam - decorated war hero and heir to connections, if not to wealth. To Darcy and his sister, he was surrogate brother, trustee, and friend.

To himself, he acknowledged during every quiet moment, he was exhaustion personified - a man too young to be so old.

"Isn't she the loveliest?" Bingley sighed happily as the Bennet family members descended from their carriage.

Richard smiled. The man was besotted - beyond repair. Another fanciful ball had begun - another tedious night to endure.

"Your Miss Bennet truly brightens the moment with her beauty," Richard commented politely. "You smile as if she has snared your heart, man."

"Most thoroughly and irrevocably," Bingley gushed from his very spot in the receiving line.

Richard, stationed slightly behind his host, coughed his laughter away.

"Come, Mr. Darcy, you simply  _must_ be tired. Why you would allow yourself to appear in such - public moments distresses me." Mrs. Hurst may remain mostly quiet. Miss Bingley did not.

"I assure you, Miss Bingley, that I choose to be present of my own volition," Darcy spoke impassively. He sported great finery tonight - dressed almost as impeccably as their beaming host. Wickham remained by Darcy's side, ready to assist if his master did as much as falter in his words. "Your distress, while most considerate as a hostess, is highly unnecessary."

"This entire event is unnecessary, if I may say so." Miss Bingley shuddered as if each family entering Netherfield - eyes wide at the splendor of the furnished ballroom - disgusted rather than flattered her. "Charles was most insistent to honor his foolish promise."

"We are their neighbors, Caroline. We must be kind." Bingley did not stop smiling - nor stop gazing at a blushing Miss Bennet.

Richard, perhaps sore from the lack of interest in his own recent days, nearly marched around the room victoriously - declaring to all that his prediction of Bingley falling in love in Hertfordshire had proven completely, utterly true.

"Miss Bennet." Bingley dashed forward as soon as his angel walked within reach. He clasped both the lady's hands. "May I request your hand for the first set - and the second."

Richard nearly bubbled over in merriment. Bingley, smitten and enamored, was as entertaining as a drunken cat.

Mr. Bennet, with a rather mischievous look in his eyes, interrupted Bingley's pleas with his own demands for attention. The host of the night, though young and charmed, greeted his other guests with alacrity.

"Country manners," Miss Bingley spat as his brother and his favorite guests walked away.

"Yes indeed, Miss Bingley. How indeed do we survive?" George Wickham spoke then. His words were whispered lowly between him and Miss Bingley almost - inappropriately.

Richard frowned.

"Have you much fault to find in our newfound friends, Miss Bingley?" There was an edge of impatience in Darcy's voice. He readjusted his fingers atop his walking stick. "I happen to find Hertfordshire a trove of hidden treasures."

"Of course, Mr. Darcy, how could I ever deny the countryside's charms! Pemberley is  _most astoundingly beautiful_ , I know." It was a pity for Miss Bingley, Richard thought, that his cousin could not notice, nor at all see, her fluttering eyelashes.

"You prefer the countryside to town, Miss Bingley?" Wickham smirked. "I had not expected you to be the kind to express such unfashionable sentiments aloud."

"What are fashions for,  _Mr. Wickham_ , but for discarding in light of your master's wisdom?" A haughtiness that had disappeared in her when Darcy expressed his appreciation for Hertfordshire company reemerged quickly. "Surely, Mr. Darcy must know better than the  _ton_."

"A blind man cannot see as well as we do, madam." Wickham narrowed his eyes.

Richard frowned harsher than he already did at the man's audacity.

"Must I assure you, George, that I see plenty through your eyes?" Darcy smiled slightly, apparently unaffected by Wickham's indirect insult. "You describe rather excellently the  _brightness_  of Miss Bingley's plumes, the kindness of Mr. Bingley's manners, and the intelligence in Miss Elizabeth's eyes. Your observations prove you attentive, if not ever present, all these days."

Miss Bingley huffed unhappily. Richard pondered what sort of information Wickham chose to share with his master each day.

Was it truly more pressing to inform Darcy of the mannerisms of the people surrounding him - than aiding him to live independently?

"One must not speak so uncharitably of one's hostess, Darce," Richard said gently. "Miss Bingley is not entirely bedecked with plumes alone."

Their hostess seemed to lessen her displeasure.

Richard, anxious to discover why Darcy expressed something almost akin to  _excitement_  regarding tonight's events, shoved Wickham forward and closer to Miss Bingley.

"Do you not wish to dance tonight, Wickham?" Richard nearly shouted. "I would be honored to ask a dance of Miss Bingley after you complete the one you had said you wished to ask of her."

Wickham threw a glare his way - but proceeded to ask Miss Bingley anyway. Richard almost smirked at the sight of Wickham leading Miss Orange Plumes to the dance floor.

"Will you not dance, Richard?" Darcy leaned over slightly when he spoke, as he always did.

Richard smiled sourly. "There are fewer things more interesting than  _watching_ other couples dance."

Darcy chuckled. He spoke after a pause. "It is a pity, then, that I may not indulge in this activity."

Richard turned sharply to face his cousin. "I'm sorry, Darce, I spoke without thinking."

"It is of no harm," Darcy answered graciously. "Balls are often as interesting to the observer as it is to the participant. I understand the principle full well."

Richard nodded, satisfied with his cousin's answer.

"You are a good man," Richard said a moment later, as he watched the dance steps led Bingley and his angel further and further down the line.

To Richard's surprise, Darcy frowned. "I am not as good as I ought to be."

"You care for Pemberley and for Georgiana - to the very best of your abilities."

"My best is very little."

"You permit yourself to be admitted socially, despite the risk that strangers may learn of your ailment."

"It is necessary to sustain the family's honor."

"You repel Miss Bingley's attentions, despite her willingness to be abused."

At that, Darcy chuckled. "I doubt self-preservation may be considered a virtue."

Richard smiled. "Earlier tonight, you were rather generous in your opinions of our neighbors."

Darcy's grin softened into a smile. "There are some individuals, I've discovered, whose better traits may be so outstanding as to pardon even their neighbors' faults."

Every limb in Richard's body hummed of mental and physical fatigue. Still, his cousin's statement made him smile.

"You are a lucky man, Darce," said Richard, wishing he had a glass with him to raise. "Souls of such beauty are difficult to find."

* * *

"Ladies, gentlemen! If I may!" Bingley tapped his glass persistently, raising the volume of his gesture until all eyes in the room set upon him. "Your attention would be much appreciated!"

Richard smiled from his seat, happy for his front-row view to whatever declaration his friend and host wished to make. The glass-tapping continued until all parties lifted their eyes from their conversations and supper hopes to attend fully to the young master of Netherfield.

"I have an announcement to make tonight," Bingley stated, pride in his stance. He appeared as amiable as ever, and his happiness was a respite, Richard found, from Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley's scowls all evening. "A most life-altering one indeed."

Bingley paused just then to look at the lady beside him. Miss Bennet - beautiful and sweet - returned Bingley's smiles openly. There was little doubt now as to the nature of their host's grand announcement.

"Dear family and friends - old and new," Bingley addressed the crowd again a moment later. His wide grin settled into something gentler, deeper. "It is with great pleasure and delight that I announce my engagement to Miss Jane Bennet - a gesture her father has so graciously approved. Ladies, gentlemen, please - wish us joy."

Two short seconds of silence brewed in the calm before the storm - before the room erupted.

"Our heartiest congratulations!"

"Jane! My darling Jane! You were not so beautiful for nothing!"

"Miss Bennet looks stately and happy indeed."

"What a fool of a man to rush so rashly into matrimony."

"We wish you joy from the depths of our hearts."

"Congratulations!"

"What startling, amazing news!"

"And so quickly!"

"Miss Bennet shall not be a spinster!"

"Mrs. Bennet must be fainting with joy."

Richard smirked slightly at the predictable chaos before him. Neighbor drew to neighbor to exchange hushed whispers as well as loud reprieves. Young women looked almost enviously towards the happy couple, while young men shook their heads at the confounding degree of frenzy their neighborhood exuded over an event as simple and ordinary as a couple's engagement.

With another smirk, Richard found he agreed very much with the men.

"You do not seem to find elation equal to Hertfordshire's, sir." A feminine voice said beside him.

He turned, surprised, and greeted again the woman he had just encountered mere minutes ago.

"Miss - Luke, I believe?" He racked his brain for recollection.

The lady smiled. Her face was not of the youthful sort - her dark hair and fashion preferences leaning towards those of a wiser, gentler sort. There was no flippancy to her tone, only calm resolve.

"Lucas, Colonel." She did not cease to smile. "I cannot blame you, sir, for any feeling akin to being overwhelmed."

Richard chuckled softly. "I may not have as good of a mask as I had hoped then."

"You are forgiven, sir." Miss Lucas nodded firmly. "One can only resort to one's best efforts, after all."

Now, Richard smiled. "Are you of the - militant sort, Miss Lucas?"

"Militant?" She did not appear offended, at least. "I do not march like a soldier, sir, if that what you wish to ask."

"No, I pertain to your mind, madame."

"My mind?"

"You seem keen to observe your opponent's strategy - and to decipher and destroy it at first chance." He tried to smile, to ensure she knew he merely teased.

The intelligent look in her eyes, mingled with a sort of sadness, confused him instead.

"I am no strategist, sir." She looked away, towards the table and its neglected spread.

"I am sorry if I inadvertently accused you of being one," he apologized more quickly than he himself expected.

"No, please - do not fault yourself, sir." Her eyes, bright before, now appeared disheartened. He leaned forward to observe those eyes closer. Her voice by his ear surprised him with its solemnity. "A spinster is easily misunderstood. It is but inevitable."

He words struck him keenly.

"Miss Lucas." He stayed his hand before it could land on her elbow. "Please - forgive me. I had not meant to imply that your kindness was rooted in any selfish ambition."

She made a sound between a scoff and a sigh. "You were not the first, sir."

"But I am determined, Miss Lucas" - his courage rose with every word - "to be the last."

She turned to face him, eyes searching. His heart rose with his courage.

The crowds around them had begun to rediscover their hunger - and begun to trade their gossip for their seats again.

"Miss Lucas," Richard asked, wholly ignoring the fact that Mrs. Hurst flanked him on the other side, "perhaps, when supper is concluded, we may discuss your observations further? I would like very much to prove that certain things are not - inevitable."

To his excitement, relief, and elation, she smiled and nodded.

* * *

_**Fifteen Years Ago** _

* * *

"Be quiet now, alright? Your Uncle Darcy needs his peace."

Richard nodded obediently. To have an earl as a father meant that he would never dare challenge his old man's authority.

He may stand taller now - but he would never dare lift his head higher than and profess to possess wisdom greater than his father's.

"Praise the babe, no matter how she might look." His father chuckled before he led them through the door.

Richard took in his surroundings quickly, contemplating what the crib, the wet nurse, the sick bed, the small stool, and the grand armchair implied. He trailed his father's footsteps until they both stood before Uncle Darcy. The master of Pemberley slouched on the armchair. On his chest, he held a tiny human being, with tiny arms pushing out occasionally from the cloths wrapped around it.

"Congratulations, brother." Father patted Uncle Darcy's shoulder. It was an almost tender moment between the two great men. Then Father looked towards the bed. His eyes carried a hint of sadness. "And you - Anne."

Richard noticed that Aunt Anne nodded feebly. He'd heard murmurs about her illness, here and there. Mother had mentioned yesterday that he and Father truly ought to visit while they could.

Richard wondered what Mother meant - but already disliked it before he truly knew.

"You have a sister now, Fitzwilliam." Father spoke to young Darcy. Richard noticed that his cousin's eyes were red - and that he looked particularly large for sitting by Uncle Darcy's feet on a minuscule stool.

"Thank you, Uncle," he answered.

With all the greetings done, Richard allowed himself to observe again the small bundle of a child Uncle Darcy held.

Richard could not see the face of the new child - but he saw Uncle Darcy's. He saw the joy and the bliss and the tenderness. He saw the hope and the instant love.

This babe, this child - was altering life itself for the small Darcy household.

Richard wondered, briefly, if his father had also held him this way soon after he was born.

He quickly decided his formal, stifling father would never have done such a thing.

"She is beautiful, Anne." Uncle Darcy's voice sliced through the silence. Richard watched with fascination as the new father's eyes alternated tenderly between his wife and his young daughter. "She is like you."

Despite his every wish to be manly, Richard found his own throat blocked by some sort of sentiment.

 _This_ was love.  _This_ was joy. The look on his uncle's face was tender - but it was also strong enough to weather a thousand upcoming storms.

 _This_ was unparalleled happiness.  _This_ was true, familial love.

It was a pity only Uncle Darcy enjoyed it.

It was a pity Richard himself never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone still enjoyed a Richard-centric chapter. As said before, this story includes so much more world-building than I've ever done before. Thank you for everyone's patience as we slowly let the plot and characters grow!


	6. The Fluttering Hearts

"My father thinks of the matter otherwise, sir - Colonel." Stars danced in her eyes whenever she smiled. The rest of her face remained serene - a fortress. Their conversation had begun in earnest after the conclusion of their meal and dance, and it had persisted interrupted ever since. "The opinion of a spinster daughter holds little weight, I'm afraid."

"But there is no reason for him to prefer your siblings over you." Injustice weighed heavily upon Richard's chest. He had learned much of this remarkable woman in the past few hours - and it grieved him to hear of any other person not having been equally taken with her. "While Mr. Philips' assessment of your estate matters may bear certain truth, certainly the disparagement of your opinion was highly unnecessary."

"You are a fair man not to hold my position against me. There are few who would hold to your views, sir."

"My views are correct - of that I am certain." Richard frowned. He was unsure how their discussions regarding the size of the room, and the number of dancers, had so quickly descended into his blatant indignation of her family's manners - but he was certain to pursue the topic to the end. Tonight was proving to be the most fascinating ball of his life yet. "Your birth as a lady ought not to undermine immediately your wishes and views."

"Sir, do not fret." She sat close to him - the distance between them dwindling as the remaining hours of the ball flew by. Her honest, open gaze carried a sincerity he found refreshing to the utmost. "The world may not agree with your assessment, sir, but I - for my own humble part - respect you highly for thinking so."

A satisfaction rose in his chest, dispelling his anger.

On a whim, he took her hand and kissed it. She looked, as expected, entirely surprised by the gesture.

All his life, he had followed the inevitable. Tonight, one simple audience with one remarkable lady had proven that life held more possibilities than he had ever thought it did.

Why must a lady be unremarkable merely for her gender and age? Why must the son of an earl dance every dance? Why must a younger son pursue a military career - or marry his cousin - merely because his entire family believed it his only choice?

"You are a savior, Miss Lucas - and I shall cherish your company every time I look back upon this evening." There was a rawness in his throat as he let her hand go - a rawness that he had never experienced until tonight. Around them, the crowds dissipated until only the Bennet, Lucas, and host families remained. He knew their time to be limited.

Richard smiled. "Never allow a man to undermine your thoughts, Miss Lucas, for you just might be correct."

The lady smiled - intelligent, comforting - as they both rose at the approach of her mother. "Perhaps you are right, Colonel. Should I report to you if I discover that you were?"

Richard's lips smiled of their own accord. "Consider it a command, madame."

Their gazes lingered when she departed with her family. His heart throbbed harder than it had for many years.

As the occupants of Netherfield each stood upon the entrance - waving farewell to their remaining guests - Bingley declared the success of the evening, Darcy smiled before muttering that he ought to find Georgiana, and Richard realized how thoroughly his fair, young cousin had slipped his mind from the very moment supper had begun.

He wondered, as he weaved his way through the guest wing, if it was right of him to forget his charge so thoroughly.

The moment passed quickly as he prepared himself for bed. Miss Darcy was a child, Miss Lucas a woman.

There was no reason for him to regret where his current attentions lay.

* * *

The kiss of the morning air was light on his cheeks, the birds' conversations gentle on his ear, as he waited for his preferred companion to arrive. Wickham had been helpful this morning, particularly helpful and kind.

But, still - Darcy wished for someone else's voice to keep him company at the foot of Oakham Mountain.

"Mr. Darcy! Mr. Wickham! You are - here!"

The salutations came right after the rustling leaves indicated her arrival.

Darcy smiled widely, satisfied at the accuracy of his own predictions.

"Miss Elizabeth," he greeted as George did. He could almost hear her nodding.

"How come you to be here - sirs?" She asked a moment later, sounding sincere in every way. Darcy painted the picture in his mind - her short, quick-footed stature with her questioning eyes and her tentative smile. Bingley had mentioned that the Bennet sisters all had large eyes. Darcy had been particularly sure of that fact in Miss Elizabeth.

"I did not realize we needed permission, madame," Darcy spoke with every civility. "I must apologize for the early intrusion."

"Oh, no - sir, not at all!" She stepped closer. Her boots cut through the padded leaves, crisply and surely. "I am merely - surprised, sirs, to find company at such an early hour the morning after a ball."

Darcy smiled, and he heard George laugh.

"You must have seen me, Miss Elizabeth, when Darcy woke me when the moon had barely risen this morning. I nearly punched the man!" George discussed this morning's matters freely.

It was not common for a man in another's employ to speak so freely to his master's friends. Still, this was George - friend, comrade, guide, and, in many ways, brother. There could be no fault in these interactions - Darcy knew.

Elizabeth chuckled beautifully, and answered - to Darcy's surprise - the seated master rather than his companion. "Are your servants always so violent, Mr. Darcy?

George cleared his throat. Darcy smiled again. "George is not merely a servant."

"But violent nonetheless then." She laughed again. She was teasing, he supposed.

Darcy reached for Wickham's elbow - an attempt to appease him. The taught arms relaxed somewhat.

"Your allusions to the morning view of Oakham Mount fascinated me so thoroughly last night, Miss Elziabeth, that I thought to witness it through your eyes." Darcy faced the Hertfordshire lady as he spoke. "Would you care to describe it?"

"Oh."

She did not further elaborate on her reply.

Darcy fidgeted, slightly unsure despite their weeks of interaction ever since the sisters had returned home to Longbourn. Bingley had visited Miss Bennet every day during those weeks - and Darcy had kept him faithful company. Despite George's occasional absence, he managed each relocation bravely.

Every day, he had discussed with Miss Elizabeth the weather, the room, the people in it, and every book they had both read. Her pleasant insights proved the tedious hours he had invested into discovering the contents of books worthwhile. The French papers Father often ordered from the continent may have translated the primary occurrences into small dots his son could slowly decipher - but it was in the company of Miss Elizabeth that Darcy truly came to know the characters that inhabited each story he knew.

She had mentioned more than once during their many conversations that she loved to walk to this place every morning.

He was happy to be able to encounter her today.

"I am sorry, Mr. Darcy, for having spoken so selfishly in your presence." Her voice drew his mind to the present.

"So selfishly, you say?" Darcy frowned - completely unaware of what she implied. "I fail to understand you, Miss Elizabeth."

"How could I be so selfish as to describe a fair view to you - when I know you may only see it through others' eyes?" she lamented. The contriteness in her voice completely eclipsed its former lightness.

"I may see it through  _your_ eyes, Miss Elizabeth - and there are no better eyes to use than eyes which love to behold their subjects."

"I - I am a fool."

"You are not," he insisted, baffled that she would be so self-incriminating.

There was a pause between their words, a moment where she shuffled. Why she would suddenly be hesitant - he did not know.

"I - I beg your forgiveness, sir, for - for limiting the world which you live in. It is unkind of me to suggest that you did not deserve a description of the view - as much as anyone else did."

Her understanding comforted him, and he sighed his worries away. "I do not take offence, Miss Elizabeth."

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy."

He nodded solemnly, and he felt her tap the back of his hand in a gesture of friendship. His heart soared at the sensation - however fleeting the touch proved to be.

For a moment, no one spoke - and Darcy wavered between enjoying their mutual silence and fearing that they had at last exhausted all topics they could possibly discuss.

"Shall I describe to you the sunrise, sir?" Suddenly, she was speaking by his side, catching even him by surprise.

He gladly allowed her to assist him on his left, while George guided him on the right.

Her pretty words complemented perfectly the growing warmth around him. He smiled, content - happier than he had ever been in years.

* * *

That wonderful morning - with Miss Elizabeth's lovely depictions of sunrise and gentle touches - placed in him a lightness of heart that lasted for days. Miss Bingley had remarked upon his smile at breakfast, and Georgiana - for all her quietness - had concurred. The frequent absence of George, who disappeared often after assisting his master with preparations for the morning meal, was the only reason Darcy didn't roam Oakham Mountain every day.

"What do you think, Fitzwilliam?"

He turned slightly towards the direction of Georgiana's voice. The Netherfield library was empty save for the two of them. He considered momentarily if his sister disliked or enjoyed her break from her regular lessons.

"Yes, dear?"

He began to wonder if she had once again forgotten his ailment and attempted to display for him her attire. The library was not a conventional choice for vanity, but young ladies all had preferred habits of their own.

"What were your thoughts?" She echoed - her voice still filled with maiden innocence.

"Of your morning gown?"

"No - Fitzwilliam." She chuckled softly. "You were smiling - and I wondered what made you smile."

He did not realize that he smiled at all until now - and he quickly dropped his face into a frown.

"Now you look upset." He felt Georgiana remove herself from her chaise and walk over to the couch he occupied. She placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you well, Fitzwilliam?"

"Yes," he said readily, unwilling to explain to his child of a sister what he truly felt. He could not claim anything - and had no right to such burgeoning feelings - without Miss Elizabeth's acquiescence.

"Did you meet her?" Georgiana asked.

"Her - who?" Darcy shuffled, turning askance. He moved his walking stick towards a safer, farther direction.

"Fitzwilliam - "

"My cousin musing upon a girl?" Richard's voice emerged at the door.

Darcy both liked and disliked the amusement in his voice.

"Cousin Richard." Georgiana addressed with every politeness. Darcy smiled at her perfect manners. "Do join us."

Richard paused before answering, "Of course."

Darcy listened as the colonel moved towards the seat across from him and Georgiana - and he lifted his gaze, however darkened, towards his cousin as if he spoke with him with every normality.

"You did not dine with us this morning," Darcy stated. His mind recalled, for a moment, how Miss Elizabeth had complained about  _her_ cousin - an overenthusiastic Mr. Collins - adamantly joining the Bennet family for every meal. Their cousins were different, quite so.

Almost involuntarily, Darcy smiled, again.

"Georgiana is right, Darce - you smile far too often for a person who beholds nothing to smile about."

The statement stung, but Darcy braved it for his sister's sake. "Is there fault in choosing joy?"

"Joy is unlike you, for you are born to be somber."

"That statement is unfair of you to make. Do you forget our childhood play?"

"Somewhat." There was a tiredness in the soldier's voice, a tone that sounded almost - distracted.

For one quiet minute, every family member in Netherfield's neglected library dwelled upon private thoughts.

"Georgiana, would you be a dear enough to fetch us tea?" Richard said suddenly.

Darcy frowned, surprised that his cousin would command his sister as he would a servant. Still - the distracted tone persisted - and Darcy wondered if Richard had more important thoughts to share.

Was he ready at last to marry Georgiana? Ten and six was young - but not unreasonably so.

"Please add some mint to mine," Darcy confirmed his cousin's order by adding his own. "Thank you, dear. You are most kind."

Thoughts remained suspended as Georgiana acknowledged the requests and left the room. She closed the door without prompting - and the cousins sat across from each other - alone.

The silence weighed heavily. Richard had a solemn announcement - that much was clear.

Richard cleared his throat. Darcy listened.

"After all these years as a soldier, son, and friend," the distracted voice began, sounding faraway, "I believe I have found the woman who would add to my roles that of husband and father."

Darcy nodded, noting the similarities between his own intentions and Richard's.

"I understand that this may not be your wish," Richard continued, now sounding almost tired, "but I owe a duty to my heart - and I shall follow my duty to the letter."

The declaration was rather  _too_ romantic, considering the closeness of their heredity. A normal man ought not to wax so poetic about his cousin, when they were yet to have become engaged.

Still, Darcy nodded.

"You are a wise man, Fitzwilliam, and I know you would not be so blinded by your wishes as to wholly deny mine."

"Georgiana is young," Darcy replied then, "but not too young. I see no reason to delay the fulfilment of your wishes."

"That is not my wish."

The words hung painfully between them.

Suddenly, Darcy found himself frowning harshly. "What are you attempting to say to me?"

"That I wish to marry - but not with Georgiana."

"Are you  _rejecting_ my sister?" Darcy growled, understanding growing. "Are you attempting to tell me that you have done the impossible and found a woman better than she?"

"No - not better," Richard replied. His voice was tight, unrelenting. "Merely a woman better suited for me."

"Because she is richer?"

Richard laughed a single laugh. "No - not by any means."

"Because she is prettier?"

"Not many would agree."

"Because she is a general's daughter who would advance your career?"

"No - I do not believe so."

The finality in his voice made Darcy fear. Richard the compliant was no more.

The man had been reborn - into a very stubborn reincarnation.

"You do not wish to marry Georgiana?" Darcy asked slowly now, though sternly still.

"I care very much for her - as a cousin and friend."

"You wish to marry a lesser woman - whose fortune and beauty could not hold a candle to my sister's."

Richard sighed loudly. "Darcy, please, understand me. I have always wanted - "

"You have been destined for Georgiana since her birth!" Darcy's anger rose again. "She - the jewel of Derbyshire - perhaps of all of England - have long known she would marry you. But you - insolent, ungrateful bastard - wish to marry someone else?"

"Darcy, you do not see reason! It is not a matter of Georgiana's eligi - "

"It is a matter of your heart then?" Darcy scoffed. "Your selfish, foolish feelings that you have suddenly discovered? You have  _never_ contradicted me regarding the matter of your marriage with Georgiana. You cannot expect now, after all these years, to inform me that - "

"You wouldn't listen!" Richard shouted.

The force of his words created a long, wordless silence peppered only by the two men's harsh panting.

" _You_ always said that I would marry Georgiana." Richard walked closer then. Darcy knew he was merely two steps away. "I never agreed to it."

"Your silence represented your permission," Darcy defended.

"Like your silence to Aunt Catherine?"

The defiance in Richard's tone - added to the gravity of his accusations - caused Darcy to glower uncontrollably. His hands clenched the top of his walking stick with enough force to leave painful scars upon his palms.

He swallowed. "I have never said that I would not marry Anne."

"But would you?"

"Richard, you are  _ridiculous!_ How can you - change your mind all of a sudden?"

"I never had a mind, Darce." Richard spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice. Darcy stilled. "But now I do."

The soldier's surefooted steps led him to the closed library door.

Neither man said a word as he slipped his way out.

* * *

**_Sixteen Years Ago_ **

* * *

"You see, Anne, you have been entirely too lenient with your son!"

Darcy tried not to shuffle too obviously. He used the tea cup in his hand to shield his grimace.

"It is not uncommon to allow a man to choose his future," Mother replied to Aunt Catherine. Her voice was serene and graceful - everything comforting. One benefit of his blindness, Darcy found, was that his family seldom ever left him alone.

At the very least, he was never left alone with Aunt Catherine.

"Having Anne and Fitzwilliam wed secures our properties and legacy. You cannot be blind to that, sister."

"I am fully aware of  _your_ preferences, Catherine." For a few seconds, Mother almost sounded angry. "It is simply a fact that they do not agree with mine."

"And what could your preferences possibly be?" Aunt Catherine scoffed.

In his mind, Darcy saw the robust aunt of many years ago. He remembered Anne as a babe, barely seen even during family events. It was baffling that Aunt Catherine wished to pair them now - when they were mere children.

"My son shall choose his own love match, as his father and I did," Mother declared. Darcy rejoiced that the Rosings couch cushion was comfortable enough to keep him stable. He did not wish to cause any commotion by creating another accident with his stray, growing limbs.

"And, pray, Anne, who would love your son? Do you think his wealth alone could overcome his  _unfitness_ as a husband and father?" Aunt Catherine's laugh was cruel and fierce. Darcy shivered. "What woman but Anne would accept his disabilities? Who but family would take pity upon a boy with not a single means to survive or care or love?"

"Catherine!" Mother was by his side within one breath, arm tight around his shoulders. Darcy turned towards her gratefully. "You speak unfairly."

"You bore  _one_ child, Anne - and he is blind as a bat today. Why you insist upon his wisdom for your future is utterly incomprehensible!"

"Why  _you_ , Catherine, insist that your sickly daughter is the answer to Pemberley's future is the true point of delusion today."

"You are insufferable."

"You are unkind."

"I am in my home, and I have every right to express whatever thoughts I know to be - "

"Catherine!" Mother stood. Darcy, teacup deserted, shifted forward on the couch to prepare to stand anytime he needed to as well. "We agreed upon this trip out of kindness - fearing that you may need assistance in guiding Anne in her girlhood. Your behavior tonight proves that our choice was ill-made."

"I am merely being wise - "

"No." There was a crack in Mother's voice - almost as if she was about to cry. She smelled of cinnamon and sugar - as she always did - when Darcy pushed himself to his feet to lean closer. Mother hugged him. "You will not be permitted to insult my family with such vigor. Fitzwilliam shall  _never_ marry Anne."

Mother pulled forward. Darcy staggered to keep up with her uncommonly large strides.

"We leave in the morning." Mother's voice was cold, commanding. "Thank you for your hospitality, Catherine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the longest of all my chapter drafts, so I hope we all feel a little spoiled :) Thank you so much to everyone who has been following and patiently waiting for updates to this story. I know it's not easy waiting for updates, and I appreciate so much that you are willing to wait. I've been incredibly busy professionally and personally recently, but I try my best to make time to write. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! :)


	7. The Mingling Hopes

"Miss Elizabeth, you see, my most noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh insists that the need for a parson to find a wife is but the most natural and fitting thing in life. It is not  _extraordinary,_ I assure you, that I wish to accomplish this task in Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth marched on, weaving her way towards Meryton as quickly as her feet would take her. Mr. Collins had arrived at Longbourn two days ago with his remarkable trunk, appetite, and tongue - and the family had not possessed a single moment of silence since.

"You see, Miss Elizabeth," the portly man began again, his words laced with pants as the speed of his cousins' strides increased. "Lady Catherine de Bourgh spoke from experience and observation - and she could hardly ever be wrong with such remarkable acumen in her possession."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, grabbed Kitty by the arm, and hauled her sister forward at the fastest speed she could muster.

"Miss Elizabeth! Miss Catherine! One must admit your figures are made lovelier by the exercise." Their cousin and guest stopped a few steps behind them. He leaned on his knees - a ball of breathlessness. Elizabeth frowned at the sight, carefully considering whether or not to offer some compassion.

"Lizzy, he's fainting," Kitty whispered, when the parson's face began to turn blue.

Elizabeth frowned, sighed, and retraced her steps slightly.

"Are you so keen to accompany us to town, Mr. Collins?" She asked as politely as she could. The last two days had been trying - particularly trying. Mr. Collins' unbidden and unhidden attentions had been consistently lavished upon her, and his presence in Longbourn had caused Mama to require that the entire household rise early to break fast with their benevolent guest. Gone without notice were her early rambles towards Oakham Mount. Gone without a trace was the strength she drew from Mr. Darcy's gentle tones upon the rare occasions he joined her there.

"To accompany ladies is - hardly a chore." Mr. Collins panted hoarsely. His face returned to a paler, but commoner, color slowly.

Elizabeth huffed with little subtlety. "Your physical discomfort is not a worthwhile cost for chivalry, sir."

"Oh, but - it is - of course." He slowly unfurled back to a standing pose. "Kindness to one's relations is a - prerequisite for any man of the cloth."

Elizabeth sighed, unhappy for his resilience - yet thankful for his willingness to have the families reconcile.

"You are kind to restore our families' friendship," Elizabeth admitted, "but, please - sir - do not find it your duty to protect us when we so often survive unprotected."

He lifted a finger, as if asking for silence. Elizabeth scowled once more.

"Miss Elizabeth, you are most kind to acknowledge my actions in my attempt to reverse the ill will that had resulted from our ancestors' feuds. It was not I, you see, who conceived the idea to seek reconciliation. Instead, it was my most noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh who - "

Elizabeth swiveled on her heels and marched away, unable to tolerate a single more reference to their cousin's esteemed employer.

"Lizzy!" Kitty called before running to keep pace with her. Their cousin did not move - perhaps still not having realized his lack of an audience - until a few minutes more.

"Miss Elizabeth! Miss Catherine!" He hollered when he began to pursue them once again. Elizabeth hung on Kitty's arm, slightly thankful that the acquiescent Jane had been required to stay at Longbourn to entertain Mr. Bingley. Oh what horrors could result from an incessant Mr. Collins and an ever-patient Jane!

They would never get to Meryton.

"Elizabeth, Kitty," a gentler voice - a female voice - called out to them. The sisters stopped.

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth smiled when she realized who had joined them. "Oh, Char, you must help us! Our  _guest_  has been most  _belligerent_  in providing his attentions since his arrival after Sunday!"

The friends clasped hands, and Charlotte quickly looked towards the huffing, puffing, stumbling parson. There was a twinkle in her eyes - perhaps of amusement.

"Mr. Collins has set his eyes on Lizzy!" Kitty exclaimed, never the one to care for priority.

Elizabeth nearly shoved her palm against her sister's mouth.

Charlotte laughed. "Mr. Collins has rather good taste."

"Charlotte!" Elizabeth growled, glaring without reserve at her friend.

Charlotte merely smiled.

"Miss Elizabeth, you have a friend," Mr. Collins declared when he finally arrived at the spot where the ladies stood.

"Mr. Collins, my friend - Miss Lucas," Elizabeth introduced with little fanfare.

"Miss Lucas," the parson greeted, with an awkward bow upon the uneven ground.

"Mr. Collins." Charlotte curtsied, still nursing a small, bemused smile.

"Will you join us to Meryton - please," Elizabeth addressed her friend.

Charlotte still looked at Mr. Collins.

"Char," Elizabeth pressed.

For one long, awkward moment, Elizabeth watched her friend exchange a knowing gaze with her ridiculous new suitor.

What could Charlotte possibly wish to do?

"Come." Charlotte turned back to Elizabeth a moment later, wholly unaffected, and linked their arms. "Meryton awaits."

Elizabeth was too bewildered to talk for the rest of the way.

* * *

"And Mother said it so effusively that I could hardly ignore her!" Charlotte laughed after her vivid retelling of Lady Lucas's worries over her daughter's matrimonial prospects.

The smile on Elizabeth's face was strained, at best.

"It is ridiculous - is it not?" Charlotte said after her chuckles subsided. Behind her, the rest of the room was engaged in playing cards, drinking tea, and trading gossip. Lucas Lodge, for all its faults, was a cozy place to be. "I can't quite believe, even now, that Mother thought it prudent to encourage me to pursue Mr. Collins."

"Charlotte, you confuse me." Elizabeth pressed her friend's hand. The observation had weighed heavily upon her since yesterday's trek to Meryton. Now, with their family and neighbors sedately occupied, was the best time to express it. "What  _did_ you mean, Char, when you gazed at him so meaningfully yesterday."

"Meaningfully?"

"Mr. Collins - " The name felt harsh on her tongue. Elizabeth swallowed, then continued, "When you joined us on the road, you greeted our cousin with a long, silent look. I fear, Charlotte, that your mother's words may have impressed themselves upon you in the worst of ways."

Charlotte's face remained steeped in a thoughtful frown.

It was almost as if she did not understand.

"Charlotte, you cannot think of marrying such a man!" Elizabeth nearly cried, so arduous were her efforts in repressing her tone - lest the entire room heard. "He is foolish and pompous and simply, utterly  _ridiculous_!"

"You think I meant to seek his favor?" Charlotte spoke with wide eyes, as if understanding had just freshly dawned upon her.

Elizabeth clasped Charlotte's hands even more tightly. The budding tears in her eyes cut deep in her heart.

"We may grow older by the day - but hope is not yet lost."

"You think I meant - to court him?" A hint of incredulity peeked through Charlotte's words.

"You do not need to, Char. You may yet meet a better man!" A single tear, shoved forward by its growing company, escaped Elizabeth's eye. She wiped it away quickly.

"Eliza, I never meant to - "

"We promised to marry for love - did we not? How can a few summers rob you of your loyalty towards such a solemn vow?"

"I never meant - "

"Did you not mean it?" Elizabeth's heartbreak seeped through her tone - but she  _needed_ to exert every effort.

"What I mean, Elizabeth." Charlotte grabbed both her hands now. They sat awkwardly - each upon her own chair - with four hands clasped betwixt them. "I have never forgotten our vow."

"Oh." A slight relief loosened the tightly-wound strings of Elizabeth's mind.

"I  _have_ met a man - a worthy man - a wondrous man." Charlotte looked assured yet shy. "And he is not Mr. Collins."

"Oh."

Elizabeth blinked her eyes until their welling subsided.

"My new friend has not spoken to me yet of any serious intent," Charlotte explained, the shyness beginning to win. "I cannot betray his identity without his permission."

A new possibility dawned upon Elizabeth's mind. Her eyes flew to the Netherfield party, currently split between the card table and Lady Lucas' prattling. On the couch, Mr. Wickham accompanied his master - refilling his cup ever so often. To their left, Colonel Fitzwilliam nodded solemnly at every new word their hostess uttered. The rest of them - remained at the tables, each fumbling over his bets.

"Is it he?" A new sort of heartbreak carved itself into her heart. Her eyes remained still, fixed on the neighborhood's newest guests. Her hands released Charlotte's.

"I hope you do not find me too forward to profess such feelings," Charlotte asked.

"No, I - I cannot blame you." Elizabeth sighed. Was it so wrong of Charlotte to admit to her feelings? "If I were in your place, I believe I - I would freely acknowledge it too."

"Thank you, Elizabeth!" Charlotte gushed. Her eyes sparkled, eloquent with thanks. "I knew, of course, that  _you_ would understand."

Elizabeth smiled sadly. "I do - truly do."

"He is a great man, Elizabeth - astute, kind."

"Yes, he is."

"Oh yes, you stayed at Netherfield with them! You must know how admirable he is!"

"I know."

"Elizabeth, dear, dare I hope?"

When she lifted her eyes to meet her friend's, Elizabeth found them filled with the exact hope she described.

With great difficulty, Elizabeth nodded. "Of course."

"I feared I was imagining his concern, of course." Charlotte smiled. "It - it was most sudden - with us keeping each other company at the Netherfield Ball."

"I see."

"I had never imagined, of course, that I would ever expect to be a soldier's wife - so foolish are the men in the militia."

"Yes, they are."

" _This_ soldier, I assure you - is wise and sweet and everything wonderful," Charlotte spoke passionately, her voice nearly rising twice.

Then, in the silence that followed Charlotte's declaration, Elizabeth realized the truth.

She sat up straight, immediately. "Charlotte, a  _soldier_ , you say?"

"I - well, yes, though he outranks most, I know."

"You have been befriending Colonel Fitzwilliam?"

"He calls often - yes."

"And it is  _he_  who has captured your heart?" New hope mingled with old joy - and Elizabeth felt herself almost flying.

"I - yes, I must admit." Charlotte smiled.

Now, Elizabeth smiled too.

"You know your heart, and you give it wisely."

"Do you think he cares, Eliza?"

Surprised by the question, Elizabeth let her gaze return to Mr. Darcy and his friends - before she answered, smiling, "He certainly looks charming, dear - and he cares for you enough to extend his kindness to your mother."

Charlotte smiled, gripping her friend's hand again.

Elizabeth rejoiced for her friend - and stowed her own feelings for another time.

"Ladies, you are far too neglected for such an intimate party!" Mr. Collins appeared before them. Hands and smiles dropped quickly.

"Mr. Collins! Are you not adequately enjoying your tea?" Elizabeth offered, with every civility.

"The ladies find tea more soothing than I, I'm afraid. As a man, I am born to pursue evils and conquer darkness."

The self-importance was entirely too funny to ignore.

"Mr. Collins." The smile was clear in Charlotte's voice. "Would you not care to keep Miss Bingley company?"

"She is being attended to, you see, by the very best Hertfordshire can offer. Without the presence of my noble patroness Lady Catherine de Bourgh, it is but inevitable that the company of the room is finite in its wisdom and grace and - "

"Male company, perhaps?" Elizabeth interrupted, unable to listen to  _another_ reason his patroness outshone all his relatives. "Perhaps you wish to share your insights with - the young men from Netherfield?"

Charlotte nearly chuckled, but Elizabeth maintained a most reasonable facade.

"They are speaking amongst themselves - with no regard for the ladies." The parson mused.

"Yes, Mr. Collins," Elizabeth affirmed, "Mr. Wickham, in particular, may require your guidance."

"Mr. Wickham, unlike the cousins, is not engaged to be married. You are correct that he ought to be more lively."

"Yes, you are wise to say so. Mr. Wickham is - " A true recollection of her cousin's words stopped Elizabeth short. Was Mr. Darcy engaged - to be married?

"Mr. Darcy is correctly restrained, as a man betrothed to the incomparable Miss de Bourgh ought to be. Colonel Fitzwilliam acts loyally to his young cousin as well. But, yes - Mr. Wickham ought to be properly taught," Mr. Collins concluded to himself.

He turned abruptly, away from the two women.

"Pardon me, ladies, there is a person I need to meet."

Neither ladies spoke another word for another five minutes.

* * *

"Do you care for a cup of tea?" The Colonel's voice appeared beside her all of a sudden, as if he had been moving stealthily towards her all along. Charlotte could not help the blush on her face.

"Shall you play host to the hostess?" She asked with a playful air - realizing only a moment later, when the soldier's face turned mischievous, what she may have implied.

Charlotte shuffled on her feet, unusually unsure. "I - that is to say - you are a guest - and I ought to be - serving you."

She shoved the cup and saucer in her hand - so newly filled from the contents of the tray - awkwardly towards him. She inclined her head forward, curious yet shy over studying his response.

"It was not easy to find you alone - milady." He took the tea from her gallantly. She dared to lift her gaze. Gone were the teasing tones and superficial greetings. He looked concerned, almost worried.

"I am great friends with Elizabeth," Charlotte explained, not for a moment wondering why she owed him an explanation at all. Her hands reached to provide a serving for herself. Occupied fingers proved less foolish, always. "I must admit some neglect for my other guests. For that I apologize."

"Yes, of course," he agreed - almost hollowly.

She trained her eyes upon the beverage she'd prepared - not daring to spare a glance for the true object of her thoughts. Her bravery and confidence amidst traded whispers with Elizabeth had now been usurped completely by uncertainty and restraint.

Did he truly care for her? Had she only imagined that he called at Lucas Lodge so often for her? He could well have been just wishing to make neighborly gestures - or, perhaps worse, had merely been bored. Had she presumed too much by imputing unspoken intentions upon him?

"These entire hours, Miss Lucas, I wished to be here - by your side - instead." His words carried depth, warmth.

When she raised her head to meet his eyes, she wondered if he saw her unshed tears.

"I do not deserve you," she said simply - honestly.

"On the contrary, madame,  _I_ do not deserve  _you_."

"You are an earl's son - a man of worldly knowledge. My dowry and its limitations could not promise to serve you as you deserve to be served. You must marry well -  _better_  than a poor country knight's daughter. You must - "

"And, pray, tell - Miss Lucas." There was a sudden, angrier edge to his tone. He was polite, but firm. His eyes leveled their gaze at her just as resolutely. " _Whose_ standards do you presume to use in measuring what sort of lady I ought to marry?"

She blinked - hoping yet fearing to hope. "Colonel Fitzwilliam, your family and society would not condone your foolishness in - "

"I do not care for them - and my family has never withheld from me what I could lawfully prefer," he interrupted. He looked taller tonight - stronger, more determined. His hands shook. She wondered if he wished to reach for hers. "And my  _heart_  declares you as worthy beyond words, desirable beyond measure.  _That_ is the standard upon which I choose to proceed."

Her whole body shook now. If they had been in a room, or in a garden, unaccompanied - she knew she would have been in his embrace already.

For one silly moment, she did not know to curse or to rejoice that they stood by a wall, by a tray, surrounded by all whom she knew.

"You are not excepted to marry your cousin - at all?" She was frank now - undeterred on her pursuit of happiness.

"No - never," he swore instantly. "My family may mention their preferences - but my life falls beneath my governance."

"Are not close alliances the norm in your circle?"

He frowned harshly. "I wonder whose knowledge you glean from. There is no -  _unyielding_  expectation of the sort. There are none upon me - at least."

"Your cousin's engagement is irremovable. What proof have I that yours is malleable to your will?"

"What engagement at all do you mean?" He stepped closer, sounding almost pleading.

She felt ashamed for pressing him so.

"Me - Georgiana, you say? And Darcy to - Anne?" He mused without prompting. Then he laughed - scoffed almost - bitterly. "You have been speaking to the parson."

Charlotte looked away, unable to deny it.

"Did he insist upon my family's fabrications? That Darcy and Anne are betrothed - as I and Georgiana are supposed to be?"

"He never truly said - "

"Charlotte," he said her name - only her name - for the first time. She watched him, unable to do anything else. "None of it -  _none_ of it is true."

She nodded mutely - ashamed, relieved, overwhelmed.

"May I speak to your father - tomorrow?" There was hope in his eyes as well - a fettered joy waiting to be set free.

Charlotte smiled. "Yes."

* * *

**_Eight Years Ago_ **

* * *

"Oh, Charlotte, it is the most romantic thing ever possible!" Elizabeth sighed dramatically as she fawned over her book.

Charlotte tried and failed to hide her chuckle.

"You do not know love, Char, until you read this book." Elizabeth pressed the bound volume against her chest. With their bare feet upon the grass and their bonnets forgotten, anything  _did_ feel possible, at the least.

"Unrequited love is made pretty only if the hero and his heroine reunite," Charlotte reminded her younger, dreamier friend. Her own mind recalled the time when her own unrequited love had proven unrewarded to the end. "And men do not always prove themselves faithful."

"Oh, but that's what makes it romantic!" Elizabeth declared, still ever sure of herself, it seems. "A  _reciprocated_ love is hardly  _unrequited_."

Charlotte shook her head - shook away the remorse and regret and sorrow.

Then she smiled. "You are sure, Eliza?"

"Yes, of course! Why would the novels lie?" Elizabeth rolled up from her place on the grass, until she sat upon it. "You have no imagination, Char. Do they take it away from you when you grow older?"

Charlotte's smiled turned mischievous. "And, pray, tell, who would be here listening to you if they truly do?"

"Then I simply must find another friend." Elizabeth sighed loudly, her face twisted into a most mournful expression.

"You find me dispensable, dear."

"I find you stubborn. You refuse to see the beauty in a sad tale."

"And you refuse to see the beauty in a happy one."

Elizabeth appeared slightly rebuked.

Charlotte inched closer to her young, vibrant friend. "An arduous road to love is not admirable, Lizzy."

Miss Elizabeth, with all twelve years of her lifelong wisdom, sighed. "I suppose we shall see, Char."

The older, wiser Miss Lucas agreed. "Yes, I suppose we shall see."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone waiting for more ODC interaction, please do bear with me! I hope Mr. Collins' hilarity brought some light-hearted enjoyment to this chapter. Thank you so much for everyone's support of my stories!


	8. The False Betrothals

With George indisposed this morning, Darcy contented himself with his seat towards the window. The light illumined his eyes, however slightly, and offered a breath of life the largest collection of candles could not. He could see no figures, discern neither color nor gazes. Yet, still, he enjoyed his post by the window as best he could. It was, at least, one step closer to the brilliant outdoors world of Miss Elizabeth than his own room ever could be.

Behind him, Miss Bingley chattered away with her sister - both women lamenting loudly regarding the lack of prestigious company.

Darcy smirked.

It was strange how his birth and his wealth reckoned him worthy company. If he had been born a servant's son, or a farmer's child - if he had been the heir to a solitary, humble cottage rather than all of Pemberley - would his blindness demean him until he was deemed worthy only of accompanying livestock and plants?

A sad, soulful part of him knew that he would have been.

His deep thoughts almost had the approaching footsteps go unnoticed.

"Richard?" He asked, with a tilt of the head, a moment later. There were no other men in the house with a tread quite as a heavy and sure.

"Cousin," the soldier answered - his voice low and near.

Darcy knew his cousin well. Darcy knew the man spoke openly, often loudly. He knew the battlefield had drained him of discretion. Others may murmur inaudibly; Richard word's always rang crisp and true.

Thus, it was strange - unsettlingly strange - that his surefooted cousin whispered secretively now.

"Do you wish to inform me of something?" Darcy frowned. After their discomfiting argument in the library - they had aimed for civility externally, and tempestuous emotions within. Neither had spoken to the other, alone, since then.

"I spoke to Sir William Lucas today. Charlotte and I are to wed once the banns are complete." There was no argument in Richard's tone - only fact, certainty.

Darcy sighed. The inevitable had come. "And there is nothing I can say - or offer - that can alter your purpose?"

"Nothing whatsoever."

Darcy closed his eyes. The thin sheet of light he'd felt before disappeared. "You have her permission."

"Yes, of course."

"You owe my sister." Darcy gritted his teeth. "This disappointment is not to be borne with."

"But bear it you shall - and she shall." Still, Richard did not raise his voice. "I can no more marry Georgiana than you can Anne."

"It is different with Anne." Darcy shuffled away, angling his face and body towards the side of his chair with no infuriating cousin. "She and I never spoke. Aunt Catherine's wishes never reflected any agreement on our parts."

"And how is it so different from you directing what you believe to be desirable for your sister and for me?" The helplessness in Richard's tone surprised him. It was a tone of grief - a tone of disappointment.

Darcy waited then, allowing each complex sentiment to settle in his heart. It was true that he had never consulted Richard nor Georgiana over their betrothal. It was equally true that no formal agreement had ever been made between the individuals, or the families.

But could they not see the prudence of this match? Could either of them truly want anything - or anyone - better than each other?

"Mr. Collins has been spreading news of your engagement to Anne," Richard said, with no prompting nor prodding.

Darcy moved - worried.

"I allay those beliefs whenever I can," his cousin continued. "I merely thought to warn you."

Darcy did not stop frowning. "And you believe referring to my false betrothal can help me understand how you perceive yours?"

Richard remained silent.

The silence was most provoking.

"I can cut you," Darcy warned, gravely unhappy.

"I hope you do not - but shall not waver if you do."

"Our families' happiness shall be threatened."

"Not more than they ought to be."

"Richard, do you not see - " The words lodged in his throat. Vague thoughts of an incandescent woman - intelligent and healthy and witty beyond anything Anne could ever be - pervaded his consciousness.

Darcy sighed.

"I informed you out of respect." Richard's voice was hollow now - distant. "I owe you no other explanation."

"Richard, you - "

"You are still my cousin - and are cordially invited to my wedding. Your sister is as well."

And he walked away without another word.

* * *

The calls exchanged between Netherfield and Longbourn had become both frequent and memorable ever since their party's first arrival in Hertfordshire. Between their weekly visits to Meryton's church congregation - nearly the only public function she was allowed to attend - Gerogiana found pleasure wherever she could, in whatever company her brother permitted her to keep.

Among all such company, her favorite was Miss Elizabeth.

"You look unwell, Georgiana," her favorite new friend said today - eyes creased with matronly worry, the sentiment heightened by the familiarity they'd since allowed for each other.

Georgiana clasped the proffered hand quickly. She blinked to avoid any evidence of tears. "I have recently found a reason for - disappointment."

Elizabeth nodded compassionately. Georgiana found that even the sternest frequency of blinking could not shove away her tears.

Harsh, heavy drops escaped her eyes, slipped down her face, and crashed upon her lap. She felt Elizabeth patting her shoulder - offering sisterly comfort.

The kindness only hastened the tears.

"Georgiana, dear - what is the matter?" Elizabeth sat closer, whispering lest they be heard across the spacious sitting room.

In her own mind, Georgiana believed herself to be no more than an ordinary young woman. In the midst of material comforts, her brother had never overtly indulged her. In the midst of an entire garrison of servants to assist her, she had never abused their willingness to serve. She had always thought herself reasonable, understanding, and kind. She had never thrown a tantrum in the hopes of achieving her preferences; she had never - not once - refused to submit to the circumstances life wrought.

But, why, then - was this most recent news so difficult to swallow?

"Georgiana, tell me. Allow me to help." Elizabeth expressed herself with all the eloquence her five older years gave her. Her left hand soothed Georgiana's shoulder, her right hand clasped her trembling hands.

Georgiana sniffed, sobbed - ashamed and heartbroken.

"You have not been acting quite yourself since Sunday," Elizabeth observed, not inaccurately. "Was Mr. Brougham's message so unsettling?"

Georgiana laughed, once, through her tears - and shook her head.

"Was Miss Bingley dressed so brightly that you wish for your brother's blindness instead?"

Georgiana knew she was teasing - but could only muster a single, painful scoff.

"Then it was the neighbors." Elizabeth suddenly turned more solemn. "Did my family or our neighbors disappoint? Did they offend you in any sort of way?"

Georgiana closed her eyes and swallowed. Her chest tightened as if flooded with waters.

Then, just before Elizabeth surmised the next possibility again, Georgiana said, "It was at church - that the banns were read."

Elizabeth watched her mutely, perhaps unable to comprehend heartache when she herself had never underwent its drowning waves. Georgiana looked down, heart heavy with guilt. Had she truly admitted something so intimate to a friend so new?

"The banns were for Charlotte and Colonel Fitzwilliam," Elizabeth echoed hollowly a moment later.

Georgiana, still sniffing, nodded.

"You are sad because the banns - had been read." Elizabeth was muttering her thoughts aloud now - that much was clear.

Georgiana nodded again.

Then, in sudden recognition, Elizabeth let go of Georgiana's hand that she may clasp both her shoulders. Her eyes - fiery and curious - met young Miss Darcy's.

"You like Colonel Fitzwilliam." Her voice had a frantic edge now. "You love him."

The stiffness of Georgiana's face contorted again into sorrow - and she cried unreservedly.

"Yes," she admitted a dozen sobs later. "We were meant to marry."

"But has he - did he ever - " Elizabeth seemed to be finding words herself. "Did he ever express such sentiments to you?"

"We were  _betrothed_ , Elizabeth." Georgiana cried - and she clung to her friend's arms in pain. "We never formalized it, but it was true."

"And you agreed to it."

"Agreed to what?"

"The arrangement."

"What do you mean?" Georgiana felt her heart weighing so heavily that it was about to sink her stomach. "Why would I not agree to marry the finest man I know?"

Elizabeth responded with quietness - wordlessness - nothing. It was as if the wisest woman in Longbourn had been struck dumb.

"Elizabeth?"

"I - I had not realized." She glanced around skittishly, like she wished to be somewhere else. "I thought it was a fabrication - a trap. Childhood betrothals and agreements never stand in Meryton - but, perhaps, your family intends these things seriously."

She stopped before Georgiana made any whole sense of her words.

Then, Elizabeth looked at her straight in the eye.

"I'm sorry, Georgiana. The pain must be - excruciating."

Georgiana nodded, comforted by the compassion, and proffered her thanks.

* * *

"Mr. Darcy."

He looked towards the source of the address. Until this point, his morning had been spent waiting - in the carriage, by the door, on the street. According to Georgiana, the Meryton shops had little fare to offer in comparison to London's; but his sister shopped nonetheless. He - noting her pain - freely permitted it.

"You appear more equipped for nature, sir."

He smiled now, having recognized her voice.

He nodded, aware that the hammering noises of the cobbler's shop behind him would cover any words he chose to speak softly.

He shouted instead. "I do prefer my walking boots. There is little vanity allowed for a man who cannot see his own reflection."

"You need not be so severe, sir," Miss Elizabeth replied, sounding much less teasing than she had but one statement ago.

Despite the dusty roads and smelly horses, he still caught that hint of lavender - that touch of mint. She was, as ever, fresh as the dawn.

"Vanity - one realizes - is wholly unnecessary for the likes of me." He heard a resignation in his own voice that he disliked very much.

"You always look well dressed, sir."

"Only by George's hand."

"Mr. Wickham accompanies you today?"

"He - " Darcy paused, realizing then that he did not know where his right hand man had gone once more. He shook his head slightly. "It is but Georgiana and I."

"I see."

They fell silent then, pleasantries exhausted. He'd always felt safe with her - in the parlor, in the woods. Here, surrounded by villagers, a formality engulfed them that he'd never truly noticed before.

"Elizabeth!" Georgiana appeared behind him. Darcy turned to extend his arm. "You are here!"

"Yes." There was a smile to their neighbor's tone. Darcy much preferred it.

"I informed Fitzwilliam of my distractions, and he most generously offered to visit Meryton with me," Georgiana explained without prompting. Her young arms curled around her brother's. "He is a most dedicated man."

Darcy bit back his smile, for true men would not betray their contentment so easily.

"I understand the cause of your distress must be common to you both," came Miss Elizabeth's inexplicable choice of topic. Darcy redirected his face towards her, frowning. "It is heartening to see family enduring where romance may fail."

Darcy found his heart stopping at the disclosure of her knowledge. While it was true that he had held never attempted to hide the knowledge of his expectations for Richard and Georgiana, he had never expected the humiliating Darcy disappointment to be of such public awareness.

"Oh Elizabeth!" Georgiana did not seem to share his embarrassment - and flew from his arm to their friend's. He heard the skirts and fingers, and he knew they clung tightly to the other then. "You are right in your every assessment."

He heard Georgiana's sob, and he heard his own heart swinging.

Had his every attempt to comfort his sister resulted in so little help?

"I cannot deny that I rejoice for my friend," Miss Elizabeth admitted, to Darcy's keen surprise. "Charlotte has long hoped for a home of her own - but, Georgiana, dear - I cannot bear that her happiness should come at the cost of your own."

Darcy froze, caught unawares by the revelation. His sister exchanged whispers with Miss Elizabeth - still, somehow, happy with the friendship.

Darcy frowned. "Miss Elizabeth, did you -  _encourage_ your friend in her pursuit?"

He hoped she had not. He could not bear the thought that she had acted so contrarily to his wishes.

"Whatsoever could you mean, sir?" Her voice was now directed straight towards him.

His frown did not relent. "Richard has seldom acted so rashly. It shall not be borne if I discover that  _outward inducements_ have led him to make such consequential decisions so swiftly and destructively."

"My friend's hand in marriage is no destruction."

Darcy hated now that this woman still stood so closely to his sister.

"You and your sisters - realizing that Bingley brought with him a whole load of eligible man - cannot but help have designs upon us."

"I beg you pardon,  _sir_!"

He heard her shrinking away - away from Georgiana, away from him. Georgiana had begun sobbing again.

"When your sisters could not catch Richard's fancy, you sent your  _friend_  - " His voice caught in his throat. He could not believe the accusations himself, but he felt their truth in his aching, ageing bones.

"There have been no  _schemes_  of any sort in all our interactions." There was fury - and pain - in her voice. His own heart ached with each step she took that led her farther away.

"And yet you throw her happiness in my sister's face?" He broke before she did. His hand wandered to support himself on the nearest, creaking post. He felt Georgiana rush back to his side.

"I express my  _sorrow_  for her." Miss Elizabeth - voice and person - felt far, far away. "How can such genuine compassion be anything but sincere?"

"Yet, still - you encouraged your friend." He struggled to regain his composure. Georgiana's hand upon his elbow acted as his anchor. "You encouraged her to spur my cousin into stupidity and indiscretion."

"Love is not stupidity and indiscretion!"

"And you believe what they share is love?" Darcy spat, more angry than he had ever felt in years. His anger burned towards her, and towards himself.

"Perhaps  _you_ would know, sir - given your  _engagement_ to your own cousin."

The words hung emptily between them, despite the carriages and whistles and hollers. Georgiana leaned close, perhaps both for herself and her brother.

Darcy's eyes stung.

He hated that they stung.

" _Et tu_ , Elizabeth?"

She did not answer, but she fumbled and shifted. He waited, heart tight.

"Good day, Mr. Darcy," she replied a moment later. "Miss Darcy, I hope you enjoy our little town."

She left before he regained enough strength to respond.

* * *

_**Nineteen Years Ago** _

* * *

"Anne, you look dashing today - as you ever do."

Darcy turned towards the voice. He heard - and felt - Father walking closer to where Mother sat. He thought he heard the sound of a kiss. The past year had been difficult - but now he knew, at least, how to use his arms and feet and heart to listen along with his ears.

"My son is handsome only because he takes after you." Father's voice was now as low as Mother's. Perhaps he sat down too.

"You are a flatterer, George - and always will be." Mother laughed. Afternoons like this, where Darcy sat indoors with his mother, made him forget that he could not run and climb and journey as the other boys did.

"Ten years is quite a long time." Father sounded happy and light-hearted. "I'm afraid it's become rather ingrained in my character."

"I have no wish to be married to a flatterer."

"To a worshipper then - a man devoted to nothing but your beauty and happiness."

"For all of these ten years?"

"And the next ten years to come - and the ten years after that."

"George."

"Anne, my love."

Darcy didn't know why - but his chest felt tight when Mother sighed. He knew what it felt like to have Father and Mother hold him.

He wondered if they held each other now.

"Some days," Father said, quite a while later, "I wondered how I ever convinced you to grant me your hand in marriage."

"You were a most determined suitor."

"You were the daughter of an earl."

"You were handsome - as you are now."

Father laughed. Darcy thought he was happier than he had been in a very long time.

Suddenly, he felt Father's large hand pressing on his small shoulder.

"I am determined that you shall find love as grand and abiding as ours." Father's words sounded as if they were for him, but they also sounded far away.

"George." Mother's clothes rustled.

For a few moments, Darcy just listened to his parents breathe.

"You shall know love," Mother said, now more clearly directed at him.

Darcy nodded. He did not know why he wanted to cry.

Father knelt down from his chair and hugged his small, young, broken heir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you can all forgive Darcy here. He is quite lost and struggling with how the life he'd always imagined for his family's future suddenly warped into something entirely different. It will take a bit of time for him to rediscover what life he can have and to learn to go after that!


	9. The Arranged Coincidence

The way her boots crushed each pile of leaves - laying waste to puddle after puddle between them - was entirely unladylike. The way she marched through the clearings like a renegade soldier disgusted even herself.

But she didn't truly care today.

A half mile before Oakham Mount, she stopped to catch her breath.

The harsh words she'd exchanged with her newfound friend haunted her from the moment she'd uttered them. Her eyes stung, even now, at the recollection of her own unfairness and pride.

Had she thrown her injured thoughts so freely at a blind, suffering man? Had she quarreled with a stalwart brother - when his sister, her friend, stood so near? The insults  _he_  had flung at  _her_  still roused their own part of unrest in her heart. How  _dared_ he accuse Charlotte of mercenary motives! How  _dared_ he make so light of others' feelings when his own path to love had been everything nothing but boring and all but arranged?

Unwarranted, a long, hardened sniff escaped her - trailed by her own ragged breath.

Dinner had been unbearable last night - with Mama dwelling endlessly upon Charlotte's good fortune and her own daughters' accursed luck. In her heart, Elizabeth rejoiced for her friend. Alongside her joy, however, dwelt a deep, unsettling guilt over the ruined hearts the impending union inevitably left in its wake.

"Miss Elizabeth!" The sound of her name surprised her - and she turned quickly to check her surroundings. It was early, but not so early that no kindly villagers would come to her aid if a highwayman were to find her before a friend did.

"Miss Elizabeth!" The voice called again. She wondered if the man - for it was indubitably a man's voice now - saw her though she could not see him. The thought of an unexpected encounter with a neighbor, or a childhood friend, felt equal parts welcome and intrusive at her current height of emotions.

Unbidden, her feet followed the direction of the call. An invisible thread beckoned her - hauling her forward, inch by inch.

"Miss Elizabeth!" A third cry came. A glimpse of his coattails, and the now-indisputable recognition of his voice, ensured then that she knew who wished to see her before she fully chanced upon him.

"Mr. Darcy," she greeted when she stood before him at last.

He sat upon a boulder - crouched low due to his large stature. His right hand clung to his walking stick, grasping it tighter ever so often as beads of sweat carved their paths down the sides of his face. Mr. Wickham - the only explanation for how his master came to be here by himself - was nowhere in sight.

"Miss Elizabeth." His face broke into a small grin. "You have come."

"Yes," she said, unsure. When he did not pounce, nor bite, she ventured another foot closer.

This clearing was among her favorites, a familiar resting place on her way to her favorite view. The birds sang sweetly here, at all hours of the day, and the laden branches kept a lovely vigil over the tiny creek. They'd met here before - more than once.

Still, a man as encumbered as he could not be expected to make such a trip on his own lightly.

"Mr. Wickham has returned to Netherfield," Mr. Darcy explained, seemingly having read her mind. "He will not disturb us."

Elizabeth nodded, unable to formulate any other response.

"Forgive my intrusion." Suddenly, her companion was contrite. "I believe our encounter in town yesterday was rather - unideal."

She swallowed, uncomfortable with her own thoughts being so freely discussed on his lips.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

"Yes, you are right." Slowly, she drifted one step away.

"My apologies for encountering you thus, madame. I - my limitations bring me very few options to speak undisturbed, undiscovered."

She nodded again. Despite the fact he clearly could not see her - he nodded back, as if he did.

"I'm afraid I have some amends to make, madame." He shifted until he faced her. It was as if he  _sensed_ her presence, without laying a single eye upon her person. "May I have liberty to speak my mind?"

The humble gentleman before her now was so radically different from the haughty one in Meryton less than a day ago - that she did not even hesitate.

"Yes, sir, of course."

* * *

"So you see, Miss Elizabeth, I have not once - at any point in my lifetime - ever considered myself betrothed to my cousin."

She nodded mutely from her seat upon the grass, a position she had taken soon after he had begun his long-winded explanation. His lack of vision permitted her many unladylike liberties any other man could, or should, not.

"My aunt's express wishes - while oft repeated - had no bearing upon my life or my cousin's. It was merely my love for my mother that - " Here, he stopped and sniffed abruptly. The weight in Elizabeth's heart, growing for the past half hour, grew heavier still. "No, I ought not to make excuses."

"Mr. Darcy," she called him - for no reason, truly - than merely to call him. She frowned sternly, as regretful of her foolish words as she was thankful for this man's willingness to make amends.

"While many women - sadly, many of women in  _my_ circle - may have mercenary designs," he spoke calmly, as if merely remarking upon the weather, "there is no justification for me to attribute similar motives to the kind people of Hertfordshire."

Elizabeth blinked the sudden tears away. The humility and openness her new friend displayed today recommended him as no flirty compliment or grand declaration could.

She admired him - more keenly now than ever before.

She cleared her throat, a clumsy endeavor. "I must apologize as well, sir, for my own foolishness at Meryton. I fear my own pride spurred me to choose the words I knew would hurt you most - before my selfishness spurred me to utter them."

Mr. Darcy shook his head, though he had no reason to pardon her.

"You spoke as you did merely because I accused you first," he said.

"My lack of discretion - and hurtfulness towards your sister - deserve no forgiveness."

"My own expectations for my sister are no better than my aunt's for me. I - who have been victimized by their schemes - owe greater guilt for attempting to do to others what I disdain being done to me."

"You love your sister - "

"That is no reason to impose upon my cousin."

"Love comes unexpected. You could not have known - "

"Miss Elizabeth." He turned his face directly towards her. Her eyes fixed themselves upon his handsome features. "Can a man ever truly know a woman's heart?"

She blinked for a few moments, choosing each word with care.

Then she spoke, "You have not incorrectly divined your sister's hopes."

He looked down suddenly then, the stern frown on his face betraying his pain. "I have failed her."

"You have not." She leaned closer towards him.

" _I_ gave her hope when there was no reason to hope.  _I_ allowed my preferences to create unkind expectations."

"You could not possibly have expected - "

"Miss Elizabeth." He looked sharply towards her, this time his face mere inches away. His breath tickled her nose. "Have  _I_ caused my sister's heartbreak?"

Her gaze ran generously over his face. Her heart ached for his.

"I only wished that she found happiness - where I could not." His hands shook.

"Yes, of course."

"Would she ever love another?"

She did not know why he asked her. She did not know why she - an unmarried lady - had any reason to feign further knowledge than he possessed.

But his pain was too palpable to ignore.

So she took his hands in hers. "I am sure she shall."

* * *

"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth," he told her gallantly when she assisted him upon his feet an hour hence.

"It is no hardship, sir." She smiled.

She knew their current exchange was unusual. She keenly felt the uncommon thrill of her hand pressed between his arm and his body.

She tried to speak evenly, nonetheless. "It is my honor to aid a man so kind."

His free hand flew to cover her entangled fingers. She leaned closer.

"My sister had no such praise for me."

"Georgiana?" Elizabeth split her mind between attending to his words and supporting his body.

"I apologized to her - last night." He gripped her hand tighter as they moved over a large rock. His admission caught her entirely by surprise. He continued, unperturbed, "She did not welcome the sentiment overly much."

A sadness sprung within Elizabeth - compassion for this broken, unlikely man.

"She shall discover your kindness when she finds her true love," Elizabeth professed. Their feet landed in unison upon the smoother path.

"True love," he muttered. His limitations caused their steps to progress slowly. A small, grim smile crept onto his lips. "It is not too mythical a hope?"

"It is - entirely possible." Elizabeth felt her own skin warm. The crook in the path demanded that she walk closer to her tall, intriguing companion. "There are stories - "

"In novels and legends?" His smile relaxed. "Life does not promise the epic for the ordinary man."

"Or woman, perhaps," she conceded. They strolled leisurely down the familiar path, meandering slowly towards Netherfield.

Their conversation lulled for a few moments. The birds' morning song framed their steps.

"Are you a believer of destiny, Miss Elizabeth?" The question he uttered did not insult, nor offend. He spoke in a manner so calm that he might just as well have been mentioning the inevitable onset of winter.

"I trust Providence - and its hand of wisdom." She pondered as she spoke. "I suppose one could refer to such sovereignty as destiny."

He nodded wordlessly. She wondered if he was pleased with her reply.

"Is it as much an act of destiny that Richard wed Miss Lucas as his not wedding my sister?"

Now, he sounded as if he only talked to himself.

Elizabeth looked towards the ground for a moment. Was Providence as kind as it was cruel?

"Miss Elizabeth."

"Yes, I believe," Elizabeth answered. "For destiny cannot contradict itself."

"And it is upon those ground that you believe a love greater than Richard's would come to my sister." He stopped walking and turned to face her. Her arm, previously linked in his, fell to her side. Then, his hand rose and reached tentatively for her cheek. She let him find it.

Elizabeth looked directly upon his face, and her heart began to run amok.

"And what of you, Miss Elizabeth?" He looked at her as if he saw her. His breath kissed the skin on her nose.

"Of me?"

"Has destiny -  _will_ destiny - be as kind to you as you believe it shall be to Georgiana?"

His lips hovered close - so close to hers that one small sway would rest them upon each other. Her breath grew short, faint.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"And perhaps, to me?" A note of uncertainty resonated in his tone. He leaned his forehead forward, as if aiming for hers.

Just then, a twig snapped above her and landed beside her feet.

She snapped just as quickly out of his spell.

"Mr. Darcy, shall I - " She extricated herself from his touch, not having realized in the first place that he had rested his other hand on her shoulder, walking stick forgotten. "Shall I continue walking you to Netherfield?"

He stood still. If there was disappointment at all, he hid it well.

"It would be most helpful, madame. Please."

* * *

They remained quiet for the remainder of their solitude. On Elizabeth's part, she soaked in the day's events, the rustling path, and the morning air with equal parts appreciation and surprise. The fact that they had met at all had been surprising enough. His apologies and subsequent actions - had been even more so.

Would she ever decipher this man?

"Ah, I see my charge has been running about!"

Elizabeth kicked one last pile of leaves before she looked up. Mr. Wickham, true to his tone, stood ten paces away with a smirk on his face.

She nearly rolled her eyes at his childishness.

"I have been duly cared for, you see." Mr. Darcy smiled as he spoke. Elizabeth noticed, rather suddenly, that he had been smiling for the greater duration of their stroll.

" _Very_ carefully." Mr. Wickham's smirk deepened.

Elizabeth traced the direction of his eyes - and quickly unentangled herself from Mr. Darcy. Had they truly been standing that close for so long?

Mr. Darcy spoke calmly, undaunted, "You did well to leave me, George."

"As you wish. Your request was of the early sort today, of course." As if in demonstration, the glorified valet yawned dramatically.

Elizabeth frowned, unimpressed.

"Forgive my whims," Mr. Darcy responded, still smiling. The harshness of his brow - so often displayed in company - was entirely absent today.

She learned earlier today that he trusted her.

Now she realized, with no small measure of panic, that there was a man the master of Pemberley trusted more.

Lydia's words from fortnights past - accusations of Mr. Darcy, defenses for Mr. Wickham - echoed in her mind, deepening her unrest.

"My friend is fortunate, Miss Elizabeth, that you seem to be generous enough to indulge his whims as well." Mr. Wickham's smile, his voice, and his manner prove beguiling.

Elizabeth stepped back by a foot.

She forced a smile. "Your master is a wise man. I do well to attend to his confessions."

The smirk returned, prompting Elizabeth a belated epiphany over what her words might have suggested.

"There is nothing improper going on here, George. I suggest you silence your mind." Despite the strong words, Mr. Darcy still spoke with a teasing tone.

She did not understand  _both_  men.

"You wound me, Fitz. How do you frame my thoughts so exceedingly well each time?" Mr. Wickham replied.

"Nearly thirty years of company proffer much by way of observation."

"Despite your eyes."

"Despite my eyes." The taller man smiled serenely.

Was this the easy relationship Mr. Wickham so widely slandered in town? Was the kindness of his master and friend a testament of good character - or a cover for a deeper family secret? She knew, more so today than ever, that Mr. Darcy was a man of good character.

'He stole poor Mr. Wickham's birthright and usurped him as master of Pemberley - only because he was blind!'

Still, Lydia's careless words haunted, undermined, and annoyed.

Elizabeth blinked away any expression of her thoughts.

"If you are quite done with him, Miss Elizabeth, I believe my duty demands that I assist Mr. Darcy here in finding his way home." Mr. Wickham addressed her again. His smile was handsome - charming.

Elizabeth paused, confused.

"Miss Elizabeth, I thank you again for granting my entreaties audience." Mr. Darcy turned towards her. She wordlessly allowed him to find her hand and lift it to his lips.

She let go - reluctantly.

"The honor is mine, sir."

She believed him - his kindness, sincerity, and goodness. She  _knew_ she could not observe a man so lengthily and still be wrong about her judgment.

She wondered, as the two men walked away a moment hence, if Mr. Darcy knew his  _own_  character.

She wondered if he knew his friend's.

* * *

**_Ten Years Ago_ **

* * *

"Mama, I did not - "

Elizabeth's protest could not stop the hand that slapped her face.

"Mama." She sniffed - aching, hurt, betrayed. "It was not I who broke it!"

"It  _was_ you, Lizzy. I saw you!" Lydia shrieked. Lizzy shook her head.

"Confess, Elizabeth, or - I swear - you sleep outside tonight!" Mama growled. Elizabeth had grown many inches of late, but Mama was still taller. "That was your grandfather's vase!"

"I did not even come  _close_ to it, Mama," Elizabeth pleaded. When she reached out her hands, Mama pulled away.

"Your father ought to be ashamed of you, Elizabeth - all wild and unladylike and clumsy."

"Mama," cried Elizabeth. She wished to fall on her knees - but knew to do so would be as good as to admit to an act she did not do.

"Fanny, enough," Papa said from behind her.

Elizabeth turned slowly, sniffing every other second.

"If Elizabeth said she did not break it, then she did not." Papa rested a hand on her shoulder. Elizabeth wished she could turn and hug her father - if only Mama wouldn't be further incensed by the act.

"Lydia saw her!" Mama insisted. Elizabeth heard little Lydia sneer.

"And who is to say Lydia did not break the vase herself?" Papa replied. "'Tis often that the guilty party accuse another first."

"Papa!" It was Lydia who wailed now.

"Thomas, you cannot think - "

"I believe Lizzy," Papa declared. "No one shall punish her further for what I believe to be untrue."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that all the ODC overload here made up for their being relatively out of the spotlight in recent chapters! We are now officially halfway through this story. I hope you're still enjoying this!


	10. The Ruinous Lover

"Elizabeth!"

Despite the clarity of word and urgency of tone, but she chose not to stir.

"Eliza!" It called again.

Elizabeth turned against the window side, too content with her daydreams to sacrifice them for reality. It had been two days since she and Mr. Darcy reconciled. Drifting fantasies - at all hours - had turned ever sweeter since then.

"Eliza," the female voice turned pleading - so she begrudgingly obliged.

"Charlotte?" Elizabeth did not take long to sit up straight. Her friend, trim and tidy, did not come alone.

Charlotte nodded vehemently as she came into view.

"Lydia?" Elizabeth wondered aloud. Dragged into sight behind Charlotte, her sister was barely recognizable - muddied, disheveled -  _damaged_. "Lydia - what happen - "

" _Mr. Wickham_ happened, Eliza," Charlotte blurted, a tear in her own voice.

"Mr. Wickham," echoed Elizabeth. Her heart grew cold, its veins icy. Her head raged - burning in fury. Suddenly, she grasped the window sill with force. " _Lydia_ , what were you doing?"

"We were merely having fun, Lizzy!" Her youngest sister protested, without a single drop of remorse. If not for the arm Charlotte clearly wrangled, the youngest Bennet girl might still be on the run. "We tripped when he kissed me, and we simply - "

"Lydia!" Elizabeth thundered, realizing the gravity with every passing moment.

"Shall we take her inside?" Charlotte offered.

"Immediately." Elizabeth rushed faster to the door than she had ever done in her twenty years of life. The two older ladies strong-armed the younger one indoors.

It did not take long for the servants to notice, and Elizabeth muttered an excuse about a fictional accident when the swarms approached to help their pretty, young mistress. Lydia basked openly in the attention - and was quick to hyperbolize her  _accident_ by the road.

Elizabeth sighed when her sister - indomitable - was delivered into Mama's arms.

"Oh Lydia!" The true mistress of Longbourn did not disappoint in her fussing, and Lydia was ensconced in bed - water and nightgown and all - within the hour.

Accompanied by Charlotte, and by the thought of the truth, Elizabeth collapsed upon the couch.

"Charlotte, we are ruined." Elizabeth closed her eyes. The guilt of waiting, and the guilt of her own passivity, threatened to overwhelm. Had she not doubted Mr. Wickham's character? How had she - suspicious already - allowed the villain to have freedom still - freedom to assault her sister?

"Eliza, not many know," Charlotte comforted.

Elizabeth groaned. "Were they hidden?"

Charlotte looked down upon her lap. Elizabeth frowned, knowing already their demise.

"Not many travelled that path, I suppose," her friend offered gently.

Elizabeth clasped Charlotte's hands. "What did you see?"

"Mr. Wickham - " Charlotte paused. It was never good when Charlotte paused. She inhaled deeply, then sighed. "Lydia and Mr. Wickham were embracing - and she did indeed fall into the mud. He did not help her out, however, and seemed content to -  _encourage_ further contact on the ground."

"Oh Charlotte!"

"I screamed when I saw who they were - and they both stopped to look my way. Mr. Wickham had the sense to scramble off your sister - but Lydia merely giggled where she was."

Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly. Ruin was upon them - ruin of the total kind!

"I cried Lydia's name then," Charlotte narrated on. "Mr. Wickham glared at me once more before running off - to where, I do not know. Lydia pouted upon the muddied ground, looking rather abandoned."

Elizabeth sniffed.

"I took her straight here afterwards, Eliza. Do not fret. All may not yet be lost."

"You have found love, Char - and need not worry," Elizabeth muttered. Her friend looked contrite, so Elizabeth offered a small, bitter smile.

"Forgive my thoughtlessness."

"No - it is fine." Elizabeth sighed. Upstairs, a dozen pair of feet pattered about - all serving their undeserving princess.

Her mind constructed the scene Charlotte described. Her sister - the most shameless gentlewoman of humankind -  _allowed_ her lover such liberties -  _encouraged_ and  _desired_ such open, blatant ruination.

Did she think, even for a moment, of her family? Did Lydia wonder, at all, if her actions were right or wrong?

"Eliza," Charlotte coaxed.

Again, Elizabeth sighed. Lydia was at fault - but so was her lover.

"Are they, perhaps - engaged?" Charlotte asked.

Elizabeth paused to ponder the possibility.

"No, I'm afraid. Lydia would never keep silent if they were.

"Perhaps it is an engagement of the secret sort? Perhaps they wished to gradually inform the people in their lives, in person."

"Like you and your colonel?" Elizabeth, at last, had some mood to tease.

Charlotte blushed. "Eliza."

"I jest, Charlotte. I could never make sport of your happiness."

For a few more moments, the friends remained silent.

"I suppose I must inform my father," said Elizabeth, when the grief could no longer be ignored. "He must not be permitted to believe that it was all an accident."

Charlotte nodded and stood with her. "I would gladly bear witness to your father."

Elizabeth smiled at her friend - perhaps her only friend from this time on. She could not expect, after all, that the Netherfield party would welcome her still when her sister debased herself so.

Elizabeth sighed at the fearful thought that Mr. Bingley might become convinced of Jane's unsuitability.

"That is your father's study - is it not?" Charlotte - ever practical - asked.

Elizabeth looked at her friend, then at the door she indicated.

She nodded with another, heavy-hearted sigh.

* * *

Darcy wondered, at times, if he would ever have become as much of a man of habit as he was had his eyes been free to roam the world.

Sipping tea where he sat today - a lonely soul in an unused study - he felt rather inclined to believe that a preference for stillness and routine was a matter of personality, and not ability. He was fairly certain, after all, that George and Richard, if rendered blind, would be every bit as loquacious and stubborn as they were now.

"Mr. Darcy." The footman's voice did not shock him - but was, still, a surprise.

He turned cautiously towards it. "Yes."

"A Mr. Thomas Bennet to see you, sir."

Darcy pulled back. It was news that he had not expected - not at all.

"He is not here to call on Mr. Bingley?"

"No, sir. Mr. Bennet has come in - agitation, sir - and asked directly for you."

Darcy frowned, unable to fathom this strange turn of events.

"Did he mention why?" He asked, wondered aloud.

"He did not say, sir - merely mentioned that the matter was urgent."

"I see." The master of Pemberley shifted around upon his chair - making sure that he faced the entrance. He posed his hands primly upon the arms of his seat. "Then I shall see him."

He heard the footman bow, walk, and close the door. He took note of the early hour, knowing that if George had been present to assist, he would be outdoors still.

He frowned for a moment, wondering if it was exactly his morning walks of late that had caused Mr. Bennet's sudden arrival.

Did the father - or another person - witness the solitary company he had been keeping with Miss Elizabeth? Was he here to demand marriage - to ask him to clear her name?

Darcy was convinced he had never compromised the lady.

But he did not find the thought of being compelled to marry her entirely detestable either.

"Mr. Darcy!" The greeting followed the tossing open of Bingley's rented door. It was as if a wind followed the angry neighbor.

"Mr. Bennet." Darcy nodded his head. "Please - forgive my inhospitality."

The older man scoffed, harsh enough to disturb a few delicate pages. Darcy felt, as much as heard, the papers flitting to the floor.

"I fear  _inhospitable_  is hardly sufficient of a word to describe your infamy, sir."

Darcy frowned as the thunderous voice landed upon his ears.

He sniffed, then sighed - choosing kindness for Elizabeth's sake. "I have exerted every effort to be a kindly neighbor, Mr. Bennet. Would you care to enlighten me regarding the roots of my supposed transgressions?"

The visitor scoffed again. Then, he began to pace.

"Mr. Darcy, I understand that you and your friends are of a higher social caliber than that of our lowly Hertfordshire neighbors," Mr. Bennet began.

Darcy bristled at the description - but listened on.

"It is, of course, common for the upper classes to believe that one's wealth regarded one's education - and one's education regarded one's breeding - and one's breeding regarded one's morals," the man went on in his inexplicable rant. "It is not unlikely that one's station in birth produces misunderstanding as to one's - availability."

Darcy nodded - sorting the thoughts tossed his way with increasing confusion.

"That said, Mr. Darcy, I believed you to be a better man than prejudice and reputation warranted. The town may be thrilled for your party's arrival - but your presence has nonetheless brought grief upon my family."

Darcy cleared his throat. "Do you refer to Miss Lucas, sir?"

"Miss Lucas? Indeed, I ask you, sir, would I come here all on my own - barely dressed for the weather - merely to condemn you and your cousin for your - " The man paused mid-sentence, then sighed in the way that people who suddenly realized things sighed. Darcy waited for him to speak.

Mr. Bennet did not disappoint. "I come for my daughter, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy felt the sudden urge to blush - and he hoped he did not color as Bingley was famed to do. He realized now that Mr. Bennet  _had_ seen his rendezvouses with Elizabeth. He  _had_ come demand that they marry. It was unfair, of course - for he had never spoken or done a single wrong thing to Miss Elizabeth. But, still, the results were not entirely undesirable.

"Mr. Bennet - " he began.

"What you have done to Lydia!" The older man interrupted.

Darcy sat straight, dumbfounded.

"Miss - Miss Lydia?"

"Have you  _ever_ governed your valet and friend, Mr. Darcy?"

"My - my - you mean -  _Wickham_?"

"It is, of course, a blessing that Miss Lucas alone spotted them - for no rumors have appeared to this hour. But chance is no savior, sir." Mr. Bennet spun on his heels, the bottoms of his shoes scraping the floor. "I demand that you remove this man from your circles."

"Wickham is a trusted friend and advisor. I cannot believe that he would - "

"Do you  _know_ his whereabouts, Mr. Darcy? Have you  _any_ sort of clue as to the havoc your manservant produces?"

"He is not merely a servant, sir. He - "

"Mr. Darcy!" Mr. Bennet bellowed. Darcy did not dare to move. For an entire minute, the room was still.

The birds at the window chirped most inopportunely.

"You think him upright - you think your years of acquaintance acquit him instantly of wrongdoing. But, son, you are  _wrong_. Your friend and confidante has misused my daughter most horrifyingly. You cannot permit him such power."

Darcy held his breath, unable to fathom the depths of this man's anger.

"I hold  _you_ responsible, sir, for any ruin that ever descends upon my daughters' good names because you fail to guide your friend."

Neither man said another word for the rest of the restless call.

* * *

"Lydia, please," Elizabeth urged.

Her sister huffed and turned even further away. Papa had been quick to request after Lydia's unholy arrival two days prior that Kitty and Mary change rooms with their older sisters for the time being. Despite every effort exerted, their youngest sister had refused to talk.

"He is not to be trusted. He meant you ill." Jane used much softer tones than Elizabeth did. Gold hair and fair arms leaned closer to their pouting sister.

"Wickham is nothing but the best!" Lydia sniffed. The loud laments and protests ceased a day ago - and had since been replaced with softer, grouchier complaints.

"Lydia!" Elizabeth cried, impatient with the unwavering obstinance.

"Hush, Lizzy." Jane laid her other hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. Both dark-haired sisters sighed.

"He loves me - more than your Mr. Bingley loves you, Jane," Lydia began her moans anew.

Jane - with eternal kindness - replied with every gentleness, "If he did - then he would court you, and marry you."

Sobs rolled off their youngest sister like thunder off tall, imposing clouds.

"Lydia, he is not faithful," Jane continued. "If he loved you - as he so insisted he did - there would be no cause for such alarm."

"But he  _does_ love me," Lydia muttered - sniffs between every other word.

"Lydia - "

"He did to you what he did to everyone else!" Elizabeth interrupted, unable to bear another good word in Mr. Wickham's favor.

"He did not!" Lydia immediately replied.

"Then, look - see for yourself."

Quickly, Elizabeth procured the letters she and Charlotte had harvested all day. Note after note emerged - each in Mr. Wickham's hand - and each filled with dramatic professions of love to ladies in town.

Jane read them first, with widening eyes, before passing them gently to their crying sister.

Elizabeth watched with fascination as permanent transformation overcame her stubborn little sister. With every note, the sobs decreased; with every word, the body stiffened.

"Lydia - "

"You've proven enough, Lizzy."

For three quite minutes, the three ladies remained still.

Elizabeth wondered, for one fleeting moment, if she had treated her sister too ill.

"With your permission," said Elizabeth, when the crickets grew louder than their own, rushing hearts, "I would send these notes to Mr. Darcy - that he may know the truth of the matter."

Lydia blinked repetitively - and remained wordless still.

"He governs the affairs of Mr. Wickham," Elizabeth went on. "We can trust him to take due action."

The sight of her broken sister made her question the wisdom of soliciting love notes all morning - from door to tavern to home.

"Lydia - "

"Lizzy, just go."

* * *

_**Twenty-Two Years Ago** _

* * *

"Thomas, is it not but  _proper_ that we purchase what our neighbors do?"

"Fanny, I do not believe - "

"Mrs. Lucas has new fabrics in spades! It is hardly  _acceptable_ that our sheets bear so little resemblance to what is fashionable."

"Fanny, the price is simply - "

"But  _Thomas_!"

His hand flew to his nose. Even the pain of pinching his own flesh could not cover his frustration.

"You promised  _such_ a life, Thomas," his wife pleaded.

Memories of their courtship and engagement pained him. The newlywed bliss that followed seemed to affirm his choices - to affirm the wisdom of choosing a spouse who was pleasing to his eye, if not suitable to his mind. The quick news of her being with child minted his joy with further glory.

Alas, how short-lived that glory was to be!

"Thomas - "

"You shall purchase whatever you wish, Fanny," he conceded. He had married for beauty - not for character. The punishment of poverty in light of such foolishness was inevitable.

"Oh! Thomas!" She squealed instantly - and tottered away with her bulging belly - presumably to Meryton posthaste.

In the sudden silence, Thomas Bennet could only hope that the child was a son - a son who would choose more wisely than his father ever did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Bennet and Lydia are the worst! I hope that the hints at ODC's feelings, even though not center-stage here, provided some relief in the middle of such an intense chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	11. The Momentous Choice

A part of him knew his actions were barely appropriate. As his boots tapped upon the soft ground, as the morning chill stung the inevitable scratches on his arm - each inflicted by the brambles he'd braved to get here - he frowned, and he waited.

Maneuvering himself from Netherfield without aid had resulted in one fall, two near-tumbles, and a myriad of scars he knew now decorated his face.

Still, he had to see her.

He had to know what she thought.

"Mr. Darcy!" Miss Elizabeth's cry rewarded him soon, and he turned gladly to face the source of her voice. "What have you - oh, you have come here alone, haven't you?"

She rushed to his side immediately, and he tried not to wince when her gloved fingers grazed the scratches on his skin.

"What compelled you to come, sir?" She asked, all kindness.

He had never felt such tenderness since the loss of his mother.

Darcy cleared his throat, more important things at hand. He felt her fingers retract from his person once he sat up straight upon the rock.

"Miss Elizabeth, I have come to seek your counsel."

She sighed. He wondered if she thought him mad. Indeed, who sought counsel in such early morning hours - wounded all over, too?

"Do you wish to discuss Mr. Wickham?" She offered.

He nodded, glad she broached the subject for him.

"Have you read the letters, sir?"

"Bingley helped me - yes." Darcy frowned. He shifted on the boulder. Her hand assisted him until he settled once more. "I suppose being blind has its disadvantages."

"Mr. Darcy, you cannot blame  _yourself_?" She said quickly.

Darcy wondered, for a moment, if she merely teased.

She spoke again, "Mr. Wickham's rash behavior can hardly be blamed upon a master so kind."

Darcy sighed. "Your father thinks differently."

"My father has a daughter wronged." He felt her fingers wrapped themselves around his arm. "His anxiety could hardly be considered reasonable."

"But  _you_ were able to uncover the truth, when I could not. You collected those letters - amassed proof."

"You could not have known they existed, sir."

"How did you?"

She paused. He wondered if she struggled to remember.

"I have friends in Meryton, sir. My intuition was informed."

Darcy nodded, grateful for her ingenuity.

"Mr. Darcy." He felt her palms pressing firmly on the back of his hand. "I hope your eyes have been opened, sir."

"They have."

"And Mr. Wickham?"

"Shall no longer remain in my employ from this day forward."

"You have dismissed him?"

Darcy sighed, knowing he hadn't. "I have not have the opportunity."

She did not reply - merely held his hand more tightly.

Her presence brought him warmth, brought him courage.

"I have ordered his audience for tonight," he said.

"My family thanks you, sir."

"Of course. It is - my neglect that has caused your sister such sorrow. It is but right that I correct them."

Their sudden silence caused him to feel the gaining strength of the sun.

He sighed. "Is it very late, madame?"

"No," she answered.

"I'm afraid my journey here had taken much larger amounts of time than I'd intended."

"It is not late, sir - not for amends to be made."

He stopped before he spoke, beginning to understand.

Her fingers opened then closed again upon his hand. Underneath her gloves, he felt her strength - her trust.

Darcy tried not to frown. "There are only so many amends one can make."

"It must be difficult, sir - to condemn a childhood friend so."

Darcy closed his eyes. "He bludgeoned his own life. My neglect has - "

"Sir." She leaned closer. Mint, lavender, hope, kindness - each scent rolled off her in waves. "I am sorry you must suffer so."

He closed his eyes tighter. He dearly wished he would not cry before her.

"He has been your friend - and aide - for many years."

"Our entire lives," he lamented. "If he leaves - there will be no one."

"You shall have your sister, sir," Miss Elizabeth assured him.

"Georgiana too, one day, shall marry."

"And would you not - sir?"

"Who would wish to marry a - " He sighed - striving to control himself.

"There are many women, sir, who would be  _honored_ to marry you."

He felt her leaning close - familial, dear. He reached out his arms to touch her gently, resting his hands on what he believed were her shoulders.

It was an awkward embrace - him seated, her leaning over. He felt her hand patting his back in a comforting gesture. He longed to draw her closer, but resisted.

"Are you well, sir?" She asked, another minute later, when they'd each withdrawn their arms to themselves.

"Your courage and counsel, Miss Elizabeth, shall spur me on."

* * *

The carriage rumbled on, rickety and pained. Outside its doors, the wind and birds duet. Longbourn was not far. Darcy knew the trip would only last so long.

Still, he welcomed the privacy.

"Brother, are we not too formal today?"

He raised his head at Georgiana's question.

He smiled, exerting every effort to remain in control of his life. It was true that without Wickham to pick his clothes, he had blindly - quite literally - chosen whichever fabric felt best beneath his fingers. Mr. Bennet was gracious to extend this invitation.

Darcy was not about to disrespect the man.

"All is well. I merely wish to be appropriate," he replied to his sister.

Georgiana sighed, though seemingly happily. "Then so it is. I am happy to be able to see Elizabeth again."

Darcy nodded, unable to trust his tongue.

Last night had been tumultuous - perhaps the most devastating of all nights save those upon which he'd lost his parents. Even confronted with every evidence, George had maintained his innocence. He'd admitted to flirtatiousness, to generosity - but to ruin, not once.

Darcy sighed, haunted still.

Was he never to find a person to trust again?

"I am happy they invited us for dinner," said Georgiana then.

Darcy knew his smile was grim. "Of course. I am delighted."

Georgiana's ability to speak so gayly at such a horrific time discomfited him to a certain degree.

George was a friend - and a brother. All their lives, they'd kept company. When Richard left, George did not. When Mother died - then Father died - George stayed true. Darcy had never treated him as a servant - but as a confidante, a comrade, a friend. He'd trusted George to read his letters, to care for all his possessions, to accompany him wherever and whenever he travelled.

How was he to survive now that George had been dismissed?

Darcy knew he did right. George's behavior - and all its repercussions - would bring ruin to Pemberley and to him and Georgiana. Miss Elizabeth was right. There was no room for undue mercy.

Still, Darcy felt, keenly, that he had lost both his legs atop losing his eyesight.

"Will Mr. Bingley and the rest of them be late?" asked Georgiana, when they turned in what he knew to be the last bend in the road.

"They left soon after we did. They cannot be too tardy."

"Miss Bingley dresses rather slowly."

"I suppose she does."

They ceased talking, again - perhaps having little to say.

Darcy turned his face towards the window, enjoying the slight warmth that lingered outdoors. When their arguments had stopped last night, when they had both agreed that the proof was irrefutable, George had begun to withdraw.

Gone was the warmth of nearly three decades of friendship. Gone was the trust they had both built in the other. Gone was the confidence that though the world may change - there were constants in his life that would always remain.

Even Georgiana would marry some day.

Darcy sighed. Life, it seemed, had already chosen to leave him behind.

* * *

"Mr. Bennet - may I?" Darcy waited for the man to reply. He knew he stood awkwardly in the middle of the hall. Without George, it was difficult to maintain a semblance of respectability.

"You wish to speak with me?" Mr. Bennet replied, probably halfway into his study as it was.

Darcy nodded, trying hard to frown less harshly. His fingers rearranged themselves upon the head of his walking stick. His limitations allowed him, at least, to use it indoors.

"Dinner was - remarkable, sir," said Darcy.

He heard Mr. Bennet scoff lightly. "For that, perhaps, you ought to speak to my wife."

"Mr. Bennet - "

"Is there any rightful cause to continue our argument, Mr. Darcy?"

Darcy paused, beginning to feel the older man's anger.

Then, he swallowed. "I have no wish to continue it, sir - but every wish to offer my sincerest apology."

When Mr. Bennet did not answer, Darcy could not help wondering if he communicated wordlessly with the daughters seated in the room behind his tall, uneasy guest.

"Come then, son." The answer came as a surprise. "Let us talk."

Darcy followed, careful with every step, into the study. Mr. Bennet stepped behind the desk. Darcy used his hands to seat himself in the chair opposite the wooden expanse.

"My accusations - " began the master of Longbourn.

"I have dismissed Mr. Wickham," stated Darcy. To use a less familiar, and more formal, name at least lessened the pain.

"I see."

"I apologize, sir, for my ill manners when you presented his poor demeanor to me."

Darcy imagined Mr. Bennet nodding rather sagaciously in the quietness that followed.

"Was it difficult?" The man asked.

"Pray, sir, to what do you refer?"

"Dismissing your - friend."

Darcy sighed under his breath, realizing then his own transparency.

He blinked, face tilted towards the ground. "He did not deserve mercy, sir."

"And what of lifelong friendships - and your obvious need for his assistance."

Darcy straightened. "I can manage. His inability to uphold good character renders him undeserving of such consideration."

"But there is no one you trust more than you - "

"Trust is volatile, sir," Darcy replied. He smelt Mr. Bennet's cigar pulling farther away. "Ill-advised actions can render it moot."

"And so you give up your trust and friendship - because the man has wronged your neighbor."

"Yes, sir. His actions are - unpardonable."

Both men fell silent. Mr. Bennet's cigar moved up and down, as if the man dozed or nodded.

Whole minutes later, Mr. Bennet spoke, "You value these women and their hearts - more than a man closer to you than a brother?"

Darcy sighed. He fought the tears that struggled towards the surface of his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Bennet."

"Yes."

Then, suddenly, the older man stood and leaned over the breadth of his desk. Darcy tried to turn towards wherever he pictured the man's face to be.

"If I had a son half as upright as you," said the older man, "then I would be proud for the entirety of my life."

The single tear that Darcy shed was inevitable - as he fumbled to find and shake his host's sincere hand.

* * *

_**Fourteen Years Ago** _

* * *

"Now! Now!"

Darcy tugged on the reins - and felt the full gratification of his young horse drawing to a stop. Father approached him. Mother, frail, could only wait for them to finish their lessons before hearing of how they had fared.

"You have done well, Fitzwilliam." Father's hand landed upon his shoulder.

Darcy smiled. He enjoyed his perch upon the saddle. The position made him taller, stronger. "It is not too difficult."

Father laughed. Father nearly never laughed these days - not since Mother fell ill.

Darcy was happy to please Father. Father needed to be pleased.

Also, young Georgiana needed to be protected.

"Your determination, son, shall impress even Hannibal's army." Father helped him down the horse. The ground felt solid, though rather boring, beneath his feet.

"Thank you," Darcy replied.

The thought to ride by himself had not been hard - the necessary determination had been easy to find.

It was the endurance of the physical aches and pains - from every fall and every turn - that had cost him the most.

Darcy trailed Father's footsteps with ease, instinctively knowing each step towards the familiar entrance. He decided, even then, that no one would ever see the scars his back now bore.

"There is no limit, son, to what you shall do yet," Father said, when at last they reached the door.

Darcy swallowed, suddenly moved. The servants flocked to aid their entry - all hands serving their current and future master.

They both wandered, without words, towards Mother's room. Darcy would grant Father the privilege of sharing what he'd witnessed today.

"See what our son has done," Father announced, within minutes of their entry.

Mother expressed her joy. Though she spoke weakly - for Darcy and his aching back, arms, and legs - every compliment ran deep.

"With a son as diligent and courageous as you," Father declared with a hand on Darcy's fast-growing shoulders, "I never need any other."

The two tears that ran down his face were inevitable. He believed he heard Mother cry as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a heavy chapter! If I had my way, I wold just write fluff forever like Oh Brother or Take Two. Lol. But here we have minimal progress for everyone :) I hope it was still an enjoyable chapter. Thank you for reading! :)


	12. The Double-Crosser

In her heart of hearts, a small part of Georgiana knew that her brother would dislike her current actions. George was a dear friend - nearly a cousin - but still a person of employ. It would not be proper to spend so much time in his solitary company.

Yet, somehow, with Richard calling at Lucas Lodge every day, every hour - and Fitzwilliam so withdrawn - she could not help but seek comfort and protection elsewhere.

"Not quite as pretty as your person, dear - but as a simple token, it suffices - I most sincerely hope." Her brother's former assistant knelt before her on the grass, a beautiful rose between his fingers.

Georgiana giggled as she took it.

It did smell very, very good.

"Is all well at Netherfield, love?" He sat beside her on the rock.

Her smile - so easily beckoned by charming George's actions - slipped away at the reminder of the source of her melancholy.

"Have I caused you pain? I hope I did not - "

"Oh, George. It's fine." She sniffed. The clearing where they met wasn't far from her current residence - but shrouded by foliage enough to afford privacy. It helped her, each time, to step away from the somber house filled with people far too detached from her pain to care.

It was a pity Longbourn was too far for her to walk.

"Is the rose unsatisfactory, darling?"

"Oh, no - not at all." She swiped away her treacherous tears and tried her best to force a smile. "Is it truly too hard to forgive my brother, George?"

George Wickham's face fell then - from a hopeful smile to a stern frown within the span of a single heartbeat.

"George - "

"Do not worry over our affairs, Georgiana." He placed a hand over the fingers she'd laid upon his arm. "Men's debts are hardly easy to overlook."

"But he has cut you off so cruelly."

"I forgive him." George sighed. The sadness reflected in his eyes - keen and deep. "It is disappointing, of course, that he trusts hearsay more than a man who - "

She pulled him close when he choked upon his words, her heart both heavy and full. The quarrel between Fitzwilliam and George had caused plenty of commotion in Netherfield. The men thought her asleep - but she had been fully awake and aware of every grumble and shout that had echoed down the hallway. Their words had felt jumbled - but their attitudes had been indubitably clear.

Her brother hated their friend - and had given her no explanation for his anger.

"I fear he shall take you away from me," said George, a moment later. The warming sun corresponded with her own warming soul. George was a dear. No one else seemed to care. "I do not know what I would do, darling, if he - "

"Please, do not - " She sniffed again. The thought of losing the only man still by her side was unbearable.

He hugged her then, drawing her close - no fear for the light of day.

It was a blessing to be loved.

* * *

"Are the nights very long?" George inquired as he sat beside her.

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Rather."

"My poor darling."

His arms wound around her, pressing her close. The cooling air swarmed around them. His chest brought her rest.

"And your brother?"

"Has not relented." Georgiana sighed. She barely saw her brother these days. He wandered the woods by himself, more often than was advisable. Whenever Mr. Bingley visited Longbourn, Fitzwilliam and Richard followed.

It had been ages since she'd met any lady of her age - or gentlemen, really.

"Is life so sorrowful for you, dear Georgiana?" George kissed her brow. He did it first three days ago. It was comforting to find him doing so again. "If I had but the money - I would give you every luxury you ever wished for."

"Money is useless, George." She snuggled against his shirt. "Happiness drifts away from it as waves roll away from the shore."

"It cannot be so bad."

"But it is."

She looked up then, feeling more desperate than she ever had in her young life. Everyone around her - beset with his own problems - barely noticed hers. The sympathy Elizabeth had offered after Richard's rejection subsided nearly as quickly as the first few weeks in Hertfordshire had flown by.

Here, at last, was a person who cared.

Surely Fitzwilliam was in the wrong over their quarrel?

"George."

"Yes, darling?"

"Would you truly care for me forever?"

The sadness in his eyes made her feel guilty - for how could she ever have doubted his sincerity?

"Forever, darling - to my dying, last breath."

"And Fitzwilliam's claims - "

"Are lies - every single one."

Georgiana felt her heartbeat rising - soaring, dreaming. Her hands slid up to rest on George's shoulders.

"George - darling."

"My dearest Georgiana." He kissed her then - all sweetness and passion. Her eyes closed. Her body fell freely against his frame. The wonder of this hour, this moment, branded itself into her heart.

Here was a man who loved her. Here was a man who cared. Here was a man who promised to love her to his dying breath.

Who would ever push such a dear, kind person away?

"Georgiana!" A voice cried - wailed. Footsteps - fast, furious - stomped their way closer.

Slowly, she pulled away and opened her eyes.

Who could have seen them here, where no one -

"George Wickham!" Her brother thundered, two yards away.

Georgiana whipped around, hands still anchored in George's shirt.

"How can you - " Fitzwilliam did not finish, for George took flight.

Aghast, Georgiana watched as the man who had just sworn her his love fled in large, desperate paces - eager to be far away from her now.

Two feminine hands held her by the arms.

"Come, Georgiana," said Elizabeth, "let us go inside."

* * *

He shook the entire way back indoors. His walking stick provided little guidance but - thank God - sufficient support. It only took two tumbles before he was safely inside. Fragile, female footsteps behind him indicated that his sister and her friend were not far behind.

Darcy knew his face look stormy.

There was simply no other way to look.

"Fi - Fitzwilliam," Georgiana called - weak, despondent, condemned.

Darcy scowled. Any lingering sorrow he had felt over George Wickham's dismissal had vanished into thin air the moment he’d realized what exactly transpired before him - a bitter servant accosting his master's sister.

All chance of reconciliation crumbled - all hope of forgiveness lost.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana pleaded.

He turned away, unable to face reality. Miss Elizabeth helped her - that was enough.

His ignoble sister did not need him.

This time, this hour - he needed to face himself.

Epiphanies, resolve, and reevaluations swirled around him in a starry, stirring storm. Every memory of every moment he had trusted George pushed him further into the winds. His pride and his confidence withered - chipped away by the merciless gale.

Had he brought about this conclusion by his own hand? Had his misplaced trust and familial neglect concocted a potion that harmed the woman he had loved from her birth? Had his morning wanderings - so selfish, so distracting - turned him away from his sister's true heartache?

Had his false expectations of Georgiana and Richard - caused that heartache to begin with?

"Mr. Darcy." It was Elizabeth this time.

He sighed - groaned - against the table that supported his weight.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"Leave me be," he growled. He felt Georgiana step away. Miss Elizabeth remained.

"Mr. Darcy, you could not have foreseen the vengeance in his - "

"Leave me be!" He felt like beast - felt that he sounded and acted like one.

But he needed to mourn. He needed to think.

He needed solitude to aid him in a rare moment of soul-searching sorrow.

"Fitzwilliam, please - do not blame him. He - "

"He _assaulted_ you!" Darcy thundered. The thought that his sister would still wish to protect the scoundrel sickened his stomach. "He _used_ you, Georgiana, to perform his revenge at _me_."

"He - he didn't - " Sobs overcame his sister. They threatened to overcome him.

"Mr. Darcy, perhaps we can all first calm ourselves before we - "

"No," he barked. He needed to understand - needed to find a resolution. He needed to see Wickham and drive him thousands of miles away.

"Sir, you sister wishes that you would - "

"Another time, Elizabeth." He sighed - suddenly tired. The gasp that had escaped his walking companion upon their approach of Netherfield was forever etched - like a painful carving - into his mind and heart. Her gasp had led to his hearing - and then his discovery of what was ocurring before them.

He hadn't dared to ask if they had been clothed or not.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana wailed.

"No," Darcy said - spent, depressed. "Leave me be."

His sister relented then - running away upstairs towards his guest quarters.

He heard Miss Elizabeth pause - perhaps wondering which sibling she would comfort - before leaving in pursuit of Georgiana.

Darcy lowered himself to the nearest chair. His palms and knuckles hurt from his unforgiving clasp of his walking stick. He was the one who had raised the expectation at the very beginning. He was the one who had exposed his sister - allowed her vulnerability to evil and charm.

He owed it to Georgiana to confront her attacker.

He owed it to her to see George Wickham one final time.

* * *

_**Six Years Ago** _

* * *

"He owes more than that, Mr. Darcy. You know that."

Darcy sniffed. The room itself stank. If he had not been certain that George was kept captive _here_ , he would never have ventured even close to its rickety door.

"Fitz," George called.

He wasn't too far - perhaps merely the other side of the room. It was unfortunate that George had crossed this gang of men who clearly bathed in rum rather than water.

"Mr. Darcy?" Their leader demanded.

Darcy reached into his coat and tossed another hefty pouch of coins upon the table. Its resounding clinks, clanks, and thud wore a hole in his soul.

The money did not matter. He had plenty of it.

It was the thought that his friend had chosen such miserable company that worried him.

"There you go, sir - knew you could do it."

"Here," a coarse, deep voice bellowed.

George was deposited beside him.

Darcy nodded. "I believe our debts are settled."

"Yes, sir." The man sneered.

Darcy stood taller, unwilling to stoop even another inch closer to the pungent men.

"I promise, Darce, I would _never_ do this again," George swore beside him.

Darcy sighed. Cambridge was a place of many temptations. It was perhaps human for a man as friendly and healthy as George to be easily caught in unsavory company. God knew George had friends enough.

It was he - stately young master of Pemberley - who lived a lonely life.

One may claim he made such social choices for his own protection.

He himself truly did not know if his choices were driven by wisdom or fear.

"Shall we go, Darce?" George squealed. Darcy wondered if they had tortured him.

"Yes."

George assisted him towards the door. Darcy, eager to depart from the slums, did not overly inquire over how the men had treated his friend. George was strong enough still, at least, to support his towering frame as they tumbled into the street.

"This way," George led him.

Darcy found comfort that George knew the way.

He found comfort, as well, in the fact that George had promised never to act so foolishly again.


	13. The Emotional Dichotomy

"Did you think such happiness could ever be true?" Charlotte clasped her friend's hands. "I - Richard is everything I could ever - "

"Yes, I know."

Elizabeth smiled. Charlotte - ever sensible - seldom looked this vulnerable and happy. It was the eve of Miss Lucas' wedding. Nothing could deter her joy.

"It feels unfair, Eliza, that I should find felicity when you do not." Charlotte settled deeper into the couch. "For perhaps the first time in my life, Papa  _and_  Mama are happy with me."

Elizabeth smiled wistfully.

She knew what she waited for - since her youngest of years. She rejoiced for Charlotte that she, having waited for so long, had finally found her own happiness.

It was only a matter of time, Elizabeth hoped, until she found her own.

"I mourn over your departure," said Elizabeth. "Your happiness - reigns above all - but I do wish, Charlotte, dear, that your prince had come from Hertfordshire instead."

Charlotte laughed. Elizabeth laughed too.

"You have seen our neighbors, Lizzy. Surely, you would not condemn me to their lifelong company?"

Elizabeth smiled. Her hands gripped Charlotte's more tightly. "A soldier's wife shall have many adventures."

Charlotte nodded, looking radiant from every angle. "And many responsibilities."

"You shall take it all in stride, dear."

"I certainly hope I shall. I could not bear the thought of being a poor wife for Richard."

Elizabeth smiled - resisting her laugh - at Charlotte's hopeless attachment to her future husband.

Around them, the Philips, Bennet, and Lucas family members all indulge in their own forms of pleasure. Food flowed abundantly; candles lit every corner.

It was the night before Charlotte married a  _colonel_ \- and the son of an earl, no less. Lady Lucas might not have survived the thought if she hadn't been so very obligated to the opportunity of boasting to her neighbors.

"You shall do well, Charlotte - I am sure of it." The wistfulness continued. Elizabeth sighed - awed by the presence of joy. "There can be nothing that would overcome your good sense and insight."

"You flatter me, Elizabeth."

"No - happiness is earned." A new revelation took root in Elizabeth's heart. "Once discovered, it is you who fosters its growth."

Charlotte smiled. "You sound different, my dear, from your usual self."

Elizabeth felt her eyes water. It pained her to lose her friend, but she was beginning to discover that the future brought with itself its own many charms.

"You shall do well, Char."

"Even in guarding George Wickham?"

"George - " Elizabeth stopped. She pulled back, confused. "What do you - "

"Mr. Darcy met him last night - said Richard," Charlotte explained. "Mr. Darcy has purchased Mr. Wickham a commission - and Richard is tasked to guard the man."

Elizabeth nodded slowly, her mind calculating every cost. "He wishes to ensure that Mr. Wickham stays far away."

"It is an extreme step, of course. The man does not deserve - "

"Mr. Darcy wishes to protect the people he loves."

Charlotte did not answer, but she listened - with every observation.

"He detests the man but feels indebted to his - " Elizabeth continued, "He chooses to confront the facts that he may - "

For a few moments, the rest of the world stilled as her mind raced ahead. Mr. Darcy was an enigma - reclusive one day and social the next, stormy and indignant, then considerate and kind - prideful and selfish - then helpless and young.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, incapable of seeing the trivial when her mind chased after the inconceivable.

She could not understand why Mr. Darcy extended such mercy still - but she trusted him to have his own reasons behind such a choice.

"Lizzy."

Elizabeth sighed.

Charlotte looked worried when their eyes met again.

"Do you - care for Mr. Darcy, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth pondered wordlessly, a thousand thoughts struggling to dominate her mind.

"I - he is - I don't - " She thought of the angry brother, and the neglected master, the man who spoke carelessly to his neighbors and disappointed his sister - the man who sought to make amends but struggled to do so without help.

"Lizzy."

"I don't - I don't know if I do." Elizabeth wondered if she would miss him if he went away. Has his blindness lent to his social inabilities - or are his social inabilities forgiven by his blindness?

"Another round of cards, sir?" Behind them, Charlotte's father addressed Elizabeth's father.

Soon, Charlotte and Elizabeth were both drawn into games.

It was both unfortunate and relieving that no one continued to ask questions regarding her perception of Mr. Darcy.

* * *

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana, standing three yards behind her brother, called out.

Elizabeth watched the exchange from the door. Behind her, Lucas Lodge nearly ripped itself off its roots with gaiety.

"Fitzwilliam," Georgiana pleaded again.

It was a day of rejoicing - and a day of broken hearts.

The colonel and his bride stood, beaming, greeting every guest with fervor upon their entry. Sir William and Lady Lucas nearly rivaled the newlyweds in joy. The guests - some from nearby and others from lands farther away - yielded a nervous mix of people in the joy-filled lodge.

Yet here before her, behind the lodge - under the harsher noonday sun - two siblings nursed their own aching souls.

"Fitz - "

"Georgiana." Mr. Darcy leaned his hand upon the nearby tree. Elizabeth took a step towards the two.

"Brother, I did not - " Georgiana sniffed. In a course of a few weeks, the girl had lost her childhood friend, her brother, and the cousin she loved. There were few people more tragic.

"Georgiana." Elizabeth walked towards her friend and laid a hand upon her arm. "Your brother mourns too."

Georgiana openly pondered the suggestion. Beside them, the large, grieving man groaned.

"Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth turned to him, without hesitation. Her hands reached to support his frame. "Are you - are you well?"

Mr. Darcy frowned and groaned again. The man had nearly as much strife as his sister in recent days.

It was but human to cower under the weight.

"Mr. Darcy, thank you."

He looked up at Elizabeth's words.

"Thank you, Mr. Darcy - for protecting and avenging my sister."

He turned towards her. His left hand rested on her elbow.

"I did far too little, far too late," he lamented.

"No, sir - you did - you did so much more than my family could ever afford to do. You act with compassion, and with courage. To confront a man who has wronged your sister so is no easy task."

"It was my duty."

"It was his privilege."

"For a man to attack my sister at her weakest hour - I cannot bear the shame and the - "

"Fitzwilliam!" Georgiana ran over. She clutched her brother, nearing toppling him and Elizabeth to the ground. "Do not bear my guilt for me. I deserve ever smidgeon of your censure."

"No." Mr. Darcy bowed his head. His right hand held Georgiana. His left hand clung to Elizabeth. "Wickham attacked you. You would not have allowed - "

"I professed myself in love! I allowed him his liberties!" Georgiana stumbled backwards as she shrieked. "You saved me but refuse the honor of having done so."

"Georgiana, silence!"

"I cannot have you suffer for my wrongs."

"You and I owe it to our family. I suffer little."

"You faced a man who betrayed you - and settled his debts for me." Georgiana let her tears run free. "I would rather have my brother talk to me - than have him settled a thousand debts in my place."

"I wish to protect you," Mr. Darcy spoke with bitterness, sorrow.

"Overlooking me is not protection, brother." Georgiana sniffed. Her teary face lent a wildness to her being. "Please - speak to me."

Her brother did not reply.

Indoors, the people rejoiced.

Here, outside, another narrative reached its own turning point.

"Please, love me - again," Georgiana pleaded.

A moment later, she turned and ran straight towards the direction of the nearby trees.

"Georgiana!" Elizabeth called.

She stopped to examine if Mr. Darcy could remain upright on his own. He seemed to understand her motive - and planted his hands on the trunk of the tree.

Elizabeth nodded - and dashed in pursuit.

* * *

"Thank you, Elizabeth." Georgiana sighed, arm linked with her friend. Their return to Lucas Lodge, punctuated with tears and explanations and uneven ground, had taken much longer than an hour. Elizabeth was certain there would be very few guests left upon their return.

She was wrong, apparently - as a hundred people still rushed about, busy and frantic. Every master carried worry on his face. Every servant bore an ashen face of white.

"What has happened?" Elizabeth left Georgiana behind to run the last two yards.

Jane's tearful eyes met hers. Charlotte and her new husband, still in merry garb, frowned as they ordered servants about. The noonday sun had long gone - and a few of the footmen bore torches.

"Jane, what has happened? Did someone die?" Elizabeth choked on her words. Even in her most spirited adventures, she had often worried she would come home to a lost loved one.

"No, no - no one." Jane sniffed. There was tension in the air - anger, anxiety.

"Jane." Elizabeth gripped her sister's arms.

It had taken many minutes to settle down a running Georgiana - and another half an hour more to convince the crying girl to return. Somehow, within the span of their absence, something grave had managed to happen in Lucas Lodge.

"Any sight of him?" Charlotte loudly asked the latest band of guests, returning on their horses.

"None, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. We do not know how he could have wandered so far."

"Wandered," Elizabeth muttered. She turned her eyes back on to Jane. "Who - who - "

Her eyes strayed - eagerly, desperately, cataloging the faces around them. There were many people here - both the veterans and visitors of the village. There were fidgety children.

It was clear one austere, brooding, tall gentleman was absent. Elizabeth sighed.

"Where could Mr. Darcy go?" Near the door, Caroline Bingley was whining. "If he had asked for my assistance - "

"He wandered off - by himself?" Elizabeth questioned Jane.

"No one knows." The kind-hearted sister looked far too agitated to come close to resting or rejoicing tonight. "It became apparent that he had not joined the festivities when his seat remained empty the entire duration of the meal. Sir Willam said he'd seen Mr. Darcy step outdoors, but no one can locate him since."

"And did they say anything of Miss Darcy?"

"Mary saw you walking away with her."

Elizabeth nodded. Her mind recounted what must have been the sequence of events.

"Did Mr. Darcy ever enter the house after having removed himself from it?"

Jane shook her head. "Charles said there had been no trace of his ever having done so."

Elizabeth nodded, choosing to tease her sister's familiar pronunciation of Mr. Bingley's name another time.

"There has been no sign of violence?"

"None," Jane replied.

"My brother is gone?" Georgiana appeared beside the Bennet sisters. Her voice carried both guilt and distress.

"We will find him," assured Elizabeth.

Jane did not look as if she believed it - though she did look as if she hoped Elizabeth's statement was true.

"They said a tall man walked that way!" Young John Lucas announced. All the servants and involved guests obediently followed.

Soon, the men trailed away. The remaining women, including the day's lovely bride, turned all around them to straighten the mess of coats, brushes, and satchels strewn about.

A thought, a memory - crept upon Elizabeth's mind.

"Pardon me," she whispered - mostly to Georgiana. She blinked three times in rapid succession. A growing resolve took root in her heart. "Please, excuse me."

The fading light as her cover, Elizabeth slipped her way towards Oakham Mount.

* * *

**_Ten Years Ago_ **

* * *

"But that  _is_  what Mama said!" Elizabeth wailed against the sunset. She sniffed - vehemently wiping the angry tears away from her face in between each sob.

This morning, after Papa had given her another new book to read, when she had been so very happy - Mama had entered the room.

_'You wretched, wretched girl - with all this reading, you would never marry!'_

Papa had quickly defended her. Papa had said - and he had been right to say - that many great men would want to marry wise women.

Elizabeth didn't want to marry. Marrying meant having a husband. Marrying meant giving up the home that she loved.

But Mama thought it was not alright that she didn't want to marry.

"No one is ever good enough!" She cried aloud again.

The surrounding birds fled. She stomped her foot angrily upon the grass. Against the horizon, the sun dipped lower and lower. Elizabeth knew, sadly, that Jane was probably crying too.

"I will  _never_  marry - men are horrid!" Elizabeth sobbed. Here, at Oakham Mount, she had peace. Here, in nature, Mama never nagged.

Mama had always said she was a town girl. She didn't like the countryside.

Elizabeth sighed before she rested her head against the nearest tree.

She wanted to stay here - alone - forever. Mama wanted her to marry, wanted Jane to marry, wanted everyone in the family to marry anyone with a house and a horse.

Elizabeth didn't care to marry.

She cared to read - to dream.

It was sad that only Oakham Mount understood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this chapter focused mostly on peripheral things rather than direct action. The muses weren't exactly cooperative. If it's any comfort, the next chapter is entitled "The Surprise Proposal." There's that to hope for!


	14. The Surprise Proposal

"Mr. Darcy!"

He heard her before he felt her close. She was fearless to call out for him so openly.

"Mr. Darcy."

This call was softer, closer. She had seen him. Her feminine footsteps rustled as she approached.

It was thrilling to be found by her.

It was comforting to know that he - despite all failure at social grace - still found friends among people.

"Mr. Darcy."

Her last address came right beside him. He nodded, and he felt her sitting upon the grass beside him.

He frowned, confused by the joy of her presence and by the reminder of reality that she served to be. He had fled from the wedding breakfast - like a coward - because he could not bear to witness his cousin's happiness come at the cost of his sister's despair. He could not bear the thought that he, after such extensive expectations, had been told 'no' by a man as close as a brother.

Here, in this stolen resting place, Fitzwilliam Darcy mourned.

He mourned Richard, he mourned Wickham - he mourned the pace at which life insisted upon disappointing him.

"Miss Elizabeth," he greeted, a moment later.

She did not respond aloud.

Lavender and mint surrounded his senses. They mingled seamlessly with the scents of Oakham Mount.

"The sun is setting, sir," she remarked, many moments later. He felt her look down, heard her diction muffle. "Many worry for you."

Darcy frowned, guilt now joining his multitude of mangled emotions.

"I am a coward," he confessed. His hands clutched the head of his walking stick. The journey here had not been without its trials. A sum of three falls had succeeded in bestowing upon him many bruises and even more accompanying scratches. His waist ached, and his legs withered.

Still, the bitter stings upon his body felt easy in comparison to the thought of facing the chaos of thoughts that Hertfordshire society now held for him.

"You are a brave man, Mr. Darcy." Her voice was calming, assuring. "Not many people can celebrate a cousin the way you did today."

Darcy bowed his head, too pleased with her comment to admit the difficulty with which he had managed to behave himself today.

Would she still regard him with such esteem - and offer her friendship so freely - if she knew he was a bitter, selfish man at his core?

"Despite your limitations, sir, you handle every trial with principle and courage," her praises continued.

Darcy tightened his face, suddenly needing to hide his tears.

"It is but natural to feel life's cruelties - and hide from their pain," she concluded.

He felt uncomfortable - anxious yet relieved that she understood him so well.

She did not have to extend such kindness. She could easily have told the other parties where she believed he'd gone.

Yet, she came - alone.

Was he ever to find another soul so sweet, so wise, and so strong?

"Miss Elizabeth," he found himself saying, buoyed by a sudden sense of urgency, "will you marry me?"

* * *

"Will you marry me?"

His words reverberated in the clearing they occupied.

The leaves rustled on, and the sun continued its descent.

Elizabeth - for her part - sat shock-still, a deer catching sight of a running carriage.

"Sir, I - " She caught her breath. Her heart nearly stopped from the gesture.

What did the man mean with his sudden, confusing, irrelevant proposal?

"Sir - " She began again - only to stop once more.

Another anxious moment led her to stand and begin to pace back and forth upon the grass. She heard him withdrawing - felt his limbs contracting against his body.

She simply didn't have time to address such a sudden change in demeanor.

"Sir, I - " What  _did_ Mr. Darcy mean?

"Miss Elizabeth - "

"Sir, you need not express your sentiments further - if you swear to possess them at all." She stopped in her tracks. Her hands flew to hold both sides of her head.

"Miss Elizabeth, you misunderstand me." He struggled to stand. She, for the first time ever, did not fly to his assistance.

"What to I misunderstand? That you proposed marriage to me?" She whirled around to face him. "Did I hear falsely, sir?"

"No." He straightened himself. He was frowning now. "You did not."

"And pray, tell, sir - from whence such a request stems?"

"I doubt I owe you an explanation, madam."

She groaned, anger and frustration besting her other thousand feelings.

"Miss Elizabeth, you are a most adequate choice for my family - particularly in light of my - limitations."

Her eyes stung. Her throat began to choke.

"I - I fail to see - "

"You are a pleasing enough companion for my sister," he explained, voice hardening by the syllable. "You are of genteel birth - though not of noble one. Your resilience shall prove a healthy aide to adjustment as mistress of Pemberley."

"Mr. Darcy - "

"You do not fear my weaknesses - it seems." He cleared his throat. She desperately wished to do so as well but feared she would miss his subsequent words. "I am told that you are presentable - of fitting appearances to suffice as the inevitable hostess of many a dinner party. You speak graciously enough that you would not embarrass me."

"Embarrass, sir - "

"In summary, Miss Elizabeth, you are of satisfactory breeding, appearance, and personality as to suit the role of my wife. I know you are not of the disposition to bring disgrace to a family that has been - "

"Mr. Darcy!" She cried, standing two yards away from his person. Tears streamed down her face. She panted with each breath. "Sir, you insult me."

He frowned for a moment before he replied, "On the contrary, madam, I believe I compliment you."

"By your offer of marriage?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes - by my offer of marriage."

Elizabeth sniffed, grieved at the nature of his cold, heartless proposal. True, he did enumerate her qualities - but what of love? And what of kindness and of feelings and of passion?

She swiped vigorously against her streams of tears.

"Is this your answer, Miss Elizabeth?"

"Sir?"

"You do not reply." He sniffed. Perhaps he was crying too. "It is - expected, of course. A hearty lady as yourself could hardly be anticipated to accept a proposal from a lacking man."

"Mr. Darcy - "

"I shall go back." He stood, wobbling only slightly before finding his footing. Her hands hovered, mid-air, before they could reach far enough to help him.

She sniffed again to calm her voice. "Sir, the sky is dark. The path to Netherfield is difficult to navigate without - "

"Do you believe the light and dark to matter to me, Elizabeth?" There was a pleading tone in his voice, a helplessness.

She shook her head, before sniffing again.

"You alone matter," he muttered - before he scrambled away.

* * *

"They have come! Oh, Jane, they have come!" Mama's delight was obvious to all as she peered out the window - Lydia and Kitty by her sides.

Elizabeth swallowed and lowered her head - shielding her face from the light.

Despite his every protest, she had quietly walked behind him last night all the way to Netherfield's grounds. It was difficult to watch him struggle, difficult to bear the thought that a man so resilient in his mind and heart would suffer so much by way of his body.

But, perhaps, it was his very physical limitations that enabled what was within to grow.

"Mr. - " She had paused her words halfway more than once.

She ought to be thankful - truly - that he had not seemed to notice.

Watching him arrive - and the fanfare that ensued - had made her sad. Any sadness at his rejection of her assistance had become further depressing at the sight of Miss Bingley flying to Mr. Darcy's aid.

Elizabeth sniffed, even now, at the memory.

"It is wonderful to see them coming." Kitty sighed from the window.

"Mama, dears, do not be so - I am not - " Jane blushed prettily from her seat, the fresh flowers harvested today framing her like a goddess.

One wedding often brought with it another.

It was not merely Mama who expected Mr. Bingley to confirm the date of his nuptials soon.

"Mr. Charles Bingley, Miss Caroline Bingley." The announcement came to an expectant room.

Elizabeth waited before she lifted her face. Anxiety swirled within her - and expressed itself in a polite, forced smile.

"Mr. Bing - "

The other women overwhelmed and overtook her civil greeting without further prompting.

Frankly, Elizabeth was grateful to withdraw.

"Miss Bingley, you look wonderful!"

"Mr. Bingley, dear, you simply must come - "

"Such beautiful fabric - "

"I apologize - "

"You are too kind."

The rapid exchange of words provided respite for Elizabeth - an eye of a storm in which to pause and think.

When the initial rush subsided, she was the first to speak.

"Mr. Bingley, will your friend and his sister join us today?"

Mr. Bingley turned obediently at the address - and regarded Elizabeth with a surprising dose of pity in his eyes.

"Mr. and Miss Darcy have - returned," he said, shortly.

"Returned," Elizabeth echoed, a sense of hollowness beginning to latch on to her heart.

"Home. London - or Pemberley - he did not say."

Elizabeth did not nod her head until ten seconds later, when the simplicity and weight of Mr. Bingley's words fully imprinted themselves upon her mind.

"I - thank you, Mr. Bingley." She tried her best to ignore the smirk displayed on Caroline Bingley's face.

Jane's fiancé nodded, kindness in his eyes, and returned his attentions to the oldest sister present.

Elizabeth sat where she was, neglected needlework in hand, and watched the events unfolding before her with pained, unseeing eyes.

Why did he leave? Why did  _they_ leave?

Did her betrayal, however unintended, hurt her new friends so keenly that they felt justified in a departure without so much as a word of leave?

Elizabeth sniffed, unable to comprehend her own life.

In fact, three hours later, as the family celebrated the confirmation of Jane's wedding date - an event that was declared as  _certain_ to compare favorably to Charlotte's overly simple wedding - Elizabeth's smile never reached her eyes.

* * *

**_Seven Years Ago_ **

* * *

"But Papa, she said she was my friend," Elizabeth lamented, hands clinging tightly on her father's coattails.

Papa patted her head, sighed - and  _chuckled_.

"Papa!"

"Lizzy - my Lizzy." Papa kissed her crown. Elizabeth sniffed, tears dripping out of her as tree trunks would shed ice in spring. "Why did you two quarrel?"

"Charlotte said - Charlotte - " Elizabeth trailed off, still crying. Her mind struggled to remember. Why  _did_ she stomp away from Charlotte?

"Did she have good reason to protest your choice?" Papa coaxed.

"I - I do not know." Elizabeth wiped angrily against her cheeks.

"Did she give you right cause to be angry?"

"Yes - yes, of course - she - " She leaned against Papa's chair. Her sniffing and sighing lessened with each breath she took. She and Charlotte had quarreled - and it had begun over her insistence that Charlotte not befriend the new neighbor who looked at them strangely.

Now, she could hardly remember how their quarrel had escalated.

"She values your opinion, child - and it is natural for her to defend herself staunchly if you disagree."

"She did not have to disagree." Elizabeth pouted.

"No, she did not."

Papa sat silently for another minute - until she had dried most of her tears - before patting her on the head once more.

"Your quarrel grew heated because you both cared what the opposite party thought."

"She is my friend."

"As she is yours."

"And what if we cease to be?" Elizabeth turned up towards her father, panic in her chest. What would she do if Charlotte refused to ever see her again?

Jane was a sweet, loving sister - but Charlotte was older, wiser. Charlotte might outgrow her.

Papa chuckled again. "Then you seek to befriend her again - and refuse to ever be enemies."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that chapter was probably not what you expected, but I hope you liked it! The angst is temporal; the joy will come. Thank you for persevering with this story. We are already about 3/4 done with it!
> 
> In other news, a freshly edited and proofed version of Switched is now available on the Kindle Store! I never would have thought, years ago, before my first JAFF piece ever, that this hobby could ever become anything more than a guilty pleasure. I am so, so thankful that fellow Austen lovers have been so welcoming and supportive. I could never have written this much without you! Love, Iris.


	15. The Friendly Promise

Was it selfish of her to think so?

Elizabeth sighed, reclining deeper against the back of her chair.

Since the morning the family had finally agreed upon a wedding date for Jane - the very same morning the news of the departing Darcys had reached Elizabeth's ears - Longbourn had been little more than a mess.

"The  _blue_  ribbons, Mama. The  _blue_  ones look prettier!" Kitty embarked on her most recent tirade over economic fashion.

"Your father shall be the death of me, child." Mama lifted a hand to her forehead, before sighing most dramatically. "Can he not spare another dozen pounds for his daughter's happiness?"

"I am happy, Mama," Jane replied, of course, "I do not need new ribbons or new - "

"Your trousseau  _must_  be the envy of Hertfordshire!" Mama declared.

Elizabeth groaned, barely surviving the suffocating nature of silly women's ridiculous demands.

"Hertfordshire is - ambitious, Mama," Elizabeth stated, too serene for her surroundings. "Perhaps we ought to aim for Meryton instead?"

"The envy of all of Meryton. Yes - it simply  _must_  be more impressive than Charlotte Lucas'!" Their mother did not even notice whether her daughters spoke sincerely or merely jested. "The wedding spread  _cannot_  be inferior to Lucas Lodge's. We can afford every luxury, if your father would but allow it. Lizzy!"

Elizabeth looked up, surprised by the summon.

"Your father does love you so. Perhaps you can convince him to loosen his pursestrings? Just this once - Lizzy, child."

Pleading to her children was not a look Mrs. Frances Bennet ought to display too often.

"Papa has his reasons," Elizabeth replied.

"But Papa is old, Lizzy!" Lydia - sins fully forgiven and forgotten by her burgeoning clan, and particularly by her mother - matched Kitty and Mama in enthusiasm. "He is not a young lady in need of new gowns!"

"Perhaps his - detachment from it all ought to be the very reason we trust his wisdom," Elizabeth bartered.

" _My_ father provided  _plenty_  for my dowry," Mama began her most favored topic of late. "It is  _spiteful_  and  _petty_  of yours to withhold from Jane so."

Elizabeth felt her chest constrict, and her chair sink deeper. Anyone, faced with a willful force of nature, would cower.

"Mama, I am content." It was Jane the everlasting angel who spoke to dispel the heat. "Charles is a dear and knows fully of our situation."

"But his sisters, Jane." A teary edge crept into Mama's voice.

"If I care sincerely for Mrs. Hearst and Miss Bingley - I am certain they would not mind whatever things of material worth I bring to my marriage."

Elizabeth sniffed, knowing more than Jane that - in all likelihood - the Bingley sisters  _would_ mind. Perhaps they already do.

"But Jane - "

"Mama, I lack nothing."

The joy in Jane's eyes glistened - so purely, so joyously.

It was a different look from Charlotte's - whose happiness manifested in a deep contentment and serenity.

Jane glowed like a fairy - weightless, sweet - like wispy clouds made out of sugar.

What would Elizabeth do, when she inevitably lost both her sister and her friend to matrimony?

She sighed, hair pressed against the hard back of her chair.

Was it selfish of her to think so?

* * *

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Would you forgive me for writing with such delay? The road to Pemberley has been uneven, if not outright difficult. My brother was as attentive as he ought to be - though withdrawn in every other way. It seems as if our visit to Hertfordshire, though lasting less than a year's season, has managed to alter us both fundamentally._

_When we first set foot in Netherfield, I was but a girl - innocent and full of life and hope. It took the dashing of those selfsame hopes to induce my growth - that I may, however painfully, become a woman._

_It truly could not have happened in any other way._

_My cousin had to meet Miss Lucas, and Mr. Bingley had to meet your sister Jane. They make the loveliest couples of my acquaintance now, begrudgingly though I admit it. Mr. Wickham - trusted friend and almost brother - now bears a face I hope I never shall have to see again._

_Do I write in a tone too weary for my age? If I do, please forgive me. There has been no variation in tone for my family since our removal from Hertfordshire. My brother simply ordered me to pack - and then we were gone. We have entrusted Mr. Bingley to inform the neighbors of our leave. We apologize if our incivility offends._

_If there has been any ill will resulting from our untimely departure, perhaps the offended parties may seek comfort from the fact that we ourselves - the indomitable Darcy siblings - have been thoroughly crushed ourselves._

_Even now, in Pemberley, Fitzwilliam haunts the rooms, refusing assistance. The many bruises on his elbows speak of a lack of care I had never before noticed in him. Whenever I seek to share his unspoken grief, he would say 'It does not matter' and refuse to speak any more. Quite frankly, I fear for his mind._

_Despite the many storms of life, my brother has always been my strength and stay. It falls upon me now to be his._

_I miss your friendship most heartily, Lizzy. If only I had sisters to fill my home as you do._

_Your friend, ever and always,  
Georgiana Darcy_

Elizabeth, tucked away in the corner of her room, let the window shed light upon the words in her hands. It was sweet of Miss Darcy to seek her out in communication. They had spoken previously, of course, of maintaining correspondence.

Perhaps it was Elizabeth who had insufficient faith in the promises of the wealthy, who had to learn that not all members of the ton proved whimsical and untrustworthy.

Some, she was fast learning, could be counted upon for kindness, companionship, and reasons for admiration.

"Lizzy." Jane appeared at the door. The whirlwind of discussions, choices, and delusions of grandeur had not touched her - and she looked as she always did, radiant and true. "We've received another letter for you."

Elizabeth looked up in surprise. Her hands instinctively set apart the papers in her hand that she may reach for the one Jane just delivered.

"Thank you, Jane."

"Of course. Are you well, Lizzy? You haven't set foot outside at all today."

Elizabeth looked down slightly, unable to form an answer that was both honest and kind.

"Lizzy."

"I run from the noises," Elizabeth said her half-truth. "It is more peaceful, here."

Jane, ever understanding, nodded before retreating back to the rest of the Longbourn crowd.

Elizabeth snuggled back against her corner - and opened the second letter from Pemberley.

_Dear Elizabeth,_

_Are you well? I have waited for your reply but have gained none._

_My brother calls me silly, for had I not just send my previous letter two days ago? It was hardly reasonable to consider a good reply having been formed, written, posted, and delivered in so short a time._

_Since my last letter, the air about Pemberley has lifted slightly. Seeking out your company has reminded me, I suppose, of the life beyond these walls. We rest only briefly before returning to Hertfordshire in a matter of weeks - that we may bear witness of the union between your sister and our friend._

_If there is any part of my previous communication that I still wholeheartedly wish - it is that I long for female company, of the sort with which Hertfordshire had spoiled me. It is entirely too lonely here, without mother or sister or friend._

_The neighbors still visit us, of course. Families with young daughters, in particularl, have not stopped in their persistence, calling nearly every day. But when they come - so evidently to seek out my brother's company - he withdraws into himself further and practically runs for his rooms._

_I, ever the graceless host, often mirror his actions not many moments later._

_Oh, what I can learn from you, Lizzy!_

_You speak so easily, charm so effortlessly. There have been times, more than once, in which a caller would state something regarding the silliness of women traipsing about the countryside. I would look at my brother and see his small, sad smile._

_We both do miss you so. You would have been able to respond as those people needed to hear._

_I - helpless as ever - merely nodded each time._

_I wish to invite you to Pemberley - to remind me again of the joys of having a wise, female friend. My brother, whose sole company I possess now, is not female - and his many visitors are most distinctly unwise._

_Why is it, you suppose, that our Good Lord gave you four sisters and gave me none? His word begs me to trust His will. It is simply a confusing will, I must admit._

_Even now, as I muse aloud over my intent to invite you to Pemberley, my brother reminds me of my selfishness. Your family is occupied with the many preparations that inevitably accompany a daughter marrying. It would be unkind to rob them of your presence simply to satisfy mine._

_But, still, I'm afraid I have a quiet rebel within myself._

_Would you come to Pemberley, Lizzy, as my guest? I shall be the perfect hostess and never run for my rooms. We can journey together when returning for your sister's wedding. It would not be too long._

_I can hope that your father finds it agreeable to indulge an eccentric young lady's wishes._

_Your friend, always,  
Georgiana Darcy_

Elizabeth let go of the breath she had been holding, letting a small, steady stream of air escape her lips.

If her own guardian agreed, and Georgiana's guardian agreed - then would it truly be so bad to seek refuge from Mama and Kitty and Lydia?

* * *

The approach had not been an easy one. Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, ever kind and perceptive, had questioned her at every turn regarding the wonder of her invitation to such a grand, respected estate. The rolling hills and vivid colors of the North had come accompanied with constant, casual stoking of her heart's confusion. When Uncle and Aunt Gardiner's stop at Lambton had taken them and their company away from Elizabeth, she had found herself sighing a selfish sigh of great relief.

Now, it was only she and her maid - braving their way on to Pemberley.

In her hand, Elizabeth clasped the now-crumpled third letter she'd received from Georgiana mere days ago. The fact that she had her own trunks packed even before said letter arrived reminded Elizabeth that Mr. Darcy's permission had been a mere formality.

She had been ready to come regardless of his choice.

The guilt of having acted so presumptuously condemned her from within. She - who prided herself for her discernment and good sense - had acted little better than an overzealous social climber when the opportunity arose.

Her heart, she liked to believe, was right before man and God. She longed to escape the silliness of Longbourn's current frivolity. She longed to attend to a young lady who needed a female companion more than Jane, or Mary, or Kitty, or Lydia did.

She could not, however, deny that she had jumped at the chance to come visit - nor the fact that she had felt particularly honored to have been singled out so.

"Elizabeth!" The enthusiastic greeting echoed down from the top of the grand, ascending staircase the very moment Elizabeth's shoes touched the ground.

She looked up, already smiling. Georgiana appeared much recovered now - no longer the struggling victim or the heartbroken, discarded girl.

"Georgiana, thank you. I had not thought we could - "

"We are  _so honored_ , Elizabeth." All attempts at formality dissipated as Georgiana and her crown of golden locks flew down the steps. Elizabeth caught her in a well-balanced, well-seasoned embrace. "Thank you for coming, friend."

"Of course." Elizabeth smiled.

She was glad - she truly was - for the loyalty of such a friend. She delighted in the friendship behind the honor of such a grand invitation.

The corner of her treacherous eyes, however, skirted upwards towards another figure - towards the person whose permission and grace had to be garnered for this entire visit to have happened at all.

"Mr. Darcy," said Elizabeth, when Georgiana let go.

He stood where he was, imposing and tall. With his walking stick gathered between his hands and planted between his feet - he appeared more regal than encumbered. Elizabeth was quickly reminded that  _she_  was  _his_ guest now.

And he was not about to appear weak upon his home turf.

"Miss Elizabeth." He nodded his head, barely noticeably. "Welcome."

She nodded, speechless for a heartbeat or two. Here she was - the woman who'd spurned him, the woman he'd left behind, the woman now brazenly encroaching upon his sacred sanctuary of a home.

Yet he - with ceaseless graciousness - offered her every civility.

"Thank you," she said, not offering a single spare thought towards the silliness of her breathy gratitude when it was Georgiana who had invited her to a visit that had barely begun.

Then, he smiled - slightly, just the tips of his tight, faraway lips.

She did not say more, for Georgiana was eager to tug her friend up the steps to the comforts of her stately home.

Elizabeth complied, heart full and uncertain and hopeful to the utmost degree.

* * *

_**Twelve Years Ago** _

* * *

"Mother," she begged, knees on the floor and hands around her parent's, "Mother, why?"

Mother smiled. Mother always smiled. But, somehow, whenever Mother smiled - Father and Fitzwilliam wept instead.

"You pray for sisters, Georgiana. They do not come as we demand," Mother explained.

"But Anne wants a sister too - and Helen has one," she lamented. Helen loved her little sister so much that she had to leave Pemberley to see her!

Mother coughed then, her whole body curling up. Father and all the servants rushed around to help. Fitzwilliam tensed and stood that much closer. Georgiana watched helplessly as everyone tried to make Mother stop coughing.

When the hot water and the laudanum and the fanning lessened, Georgiana pulled closer again.

"Mother?"

"Georgie, dear - " Mother coughed last two small coughs before she breathed heavily instead. Father gave Georgiana a stern look. What did she do wrong?

"Mother, may I have a sister too?" She asked anyway.

Mother held her hand. Mother's clasp was gentle, not like Father's.

"Wait, darling." Mother patted her head. Everyone liked to pat her head. "When Fitzwilliam marries - you shall have the sister you want."

"But that is so far away!"

"Yes, I suppose." Mother sniffed. Father placed his hand on Mother's shoulder. They looked at each other. They liked to look at each other before answering her questions. "But he shall be in good hands until then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried not to make everyone wait too long for this update! There are only three more chapters after this one. It's the longest P&P story I've ever written, and it's taking a toll on me. This chapter may feel a bit like a filler, but I hope the next chapter will be more enjoyable again. Thanks so much for reading! :)
> 
> Also, should I change the story title to "Blind Spot"? I've been thinking about it for a while but have found it a little too on-the-nose so far. I would very much appreciate your input!


	16. The Burgeoning Dream

Her first three days at Pemberley passed more pleasantly than Elizabeth had dared to hope. Her mornings were devoted to accompanying Georgiana and her lessons. Her later hours were spent rambling about the delectably sprawling grounds. Then, every evening, a formal dinner would lead to a decidedly restful hour of reading, playing music, and conversation.

Tonight, a neighboring family had joined for dinner - and their sensible conversations had surprised Elizabeth more thoroughly than their early departure did. She had always believed her eyes open to the traits of people in the world. She had always been the most sensible sister, the most perceptive child, and the most outspoken conversationalist.

Here, in Derbyshire - separated from the context of her own silly sisters - Elizabeth was fast realizing just how much she still had to learn.

In three short days, she had learned that masters could treat servants with utmost respect. She had learned that rich young heiresses recovered best in the comforts of their own home. She had learned that having a brother did not always mean the harsh joking or grouchy violence John Lucas had always contributed to Charlotte and Maria's lives. She had learned that a man of social and physical limitations - such as Mr. Darcy - must have exerted far more effort than warranted to remain in Meryton's foreign, gossiping circumstances.

It was a wonder he had waited until now to retreat.

"May I - "

"Here, sir." Elizabeth placed the teacup - recently and thoughtfully filled - on his tray. It was the least she could do in the face of the Darcys' generosity.

He turned his head to face her for a moment. She wondered if he could sense the nervousness that tugged at her fingertips.

"Thank you, Miss Elizabeth." He smiled, gently.

"You are most welcome - sir."

She returned to her seat a little happier than she had been when she had left it. A few yards away, Georgiana rendered a light, airy piece on the pianoforte. It was the first of such blithesome songs Elizabeth had heard since she had arrived.

Both she and Mr. Darcy clapped when Georgiana finished.

"Georgiana, that was wonderful," Elizabeth encouraged. The younger girl beamed at the casual compliment.

Perhaps she realized, too, that it was not a casually spoken phrase at all.

"Your playing - lightens the heart," Elizabeth found herself adding.

Georgiana laughed and  _pranced_  towards her friend. They clasped hands heartily. "You bring great joy to us, Elizabeth. Thank you  _so very much_ for visiting."

"I fear I do not qualify in - " Elizabeth chuckled gingerly, too timid to fully express herself.

"I would never have come out of supper alive without you!" Georgiana declared, albeit rather dramatically.

Elizabeth felt genuine surprise.

Were not the Keatons a most prudent and politic family?

Behind her, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. "I believe my sister enjoyed your - distraction, madam."

Elizabeth frowned. "Sir, I fail to understand."

"Mr. Bartholomew Keaton - square and young and sensible - has always, shall we say, held a  _tendre_  towards my sister."

Right before her eyes, Georgiana blushed.

"It is unfortunate, of course, that the feelings had never been reciprocated."

"Brother!"

"Yes."

"You embarrass me. You - " Georgiana squealed, sighed, and then flopped herself childishly on the closest chair. "Oh dear."

"Do I lie, my dear?" The brother asked, serene and astute.

"No." Georgiana sighed again. Slowly, Elizabeth returned to her own seat. "You must think me selfish, Elizabeth."

"I - I do not."

"But they have been wishing to dine together for  _months_." Georgiana threw her head back in a grand gesture. "I persuaded them to wait - for our beloved guest."

"For  _me_?"

It was now Mr. Darcy's turn to chuckle.

Georgiana nodded meekly. "Forgive me, Lizzy. It was unkind of me to use you so."

"Did you - " Elizabeth's thoughts wandered over their recent meal. Young Mr. Keaton had been civil and kind, but not in any way overly attentive. "Did I - "

She trailed off on her own, and the laughter of both siblings greeted her confusion.

"You see, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy spoke first. "It is commonplace for beguiling young ladies to exercise oversight when faced with the proof of their charms."

Elizabeth fidgeted, uncertain if he complimented her. "I suppose."

"He shall not worry you, Lizzy, I promise." Georgiana sounded eager to repay her friend for her perceived trouble. "Mr. Keaton is not a man of force. Though it was, honestly, slightly amusing to see him wavering for once - to be unsure of which lady he wished to address."

"You do not like him?"

"No, not - merely as a neighbor." Georgiana smiled. "I had always preferred Richard, you know."

"Georgiana - "

"No - do not fret." In less than a minute, Georgiana the young girl had molted once more to Georgiana the woman. Her smile was natural, secure. "Even I have learned to acknowledge that Richard and Mrs. Fitzwilliam suit. She is my cousin now, and I can harbor no ill will for her."

Elizabeth sighed, pained all over again by the shadows of Hertfordshire.

"I shall not have Richard, for he does not wish to be mine." In the stillness of the room, Georgiana's confidence rang true and clear. "I shall wait, as my brother does - as you have, Lizzy - for a person who wishes to be my love as dearly as I wish to be his. Any less would not suffice."

The weight of the declaration, and the simple joy with which it had been uttered, brought a new gladness in Elizabeth's heart that she had never known before. Was this how a father, or a mother, or an older sibling felt when their wards grew to be the person they had always been meant to be?

"Again, I apologize, Lizzy, for using you so."

"No, it is no trouble." Elizabeth smiled, appreciating fully, for the first time, the understated privilege of witnessing the growth of this tenacious, powerful, caring family. "Thank you - for telling me so."

* * *

"And the tea?"

Their evening three days after the Keatons' visit was spent in remarkably less enjoyable ways. He had tried - from the very moment her carriage drew up to Pemberley - to be as gracious and generous and understanding of a host as his limited capabilities allowed him to be.

With Georgiana coughing as harshly as she did all day, however, the brother in him had been quick to overtake the concerned friend.

"She took it - and sleeps now," explained Miss Elizabeth, closing the door behind her. The awkwardness of conversing with their guest this way - with both of them stationed at the door to Georgiana's chambers - was not lost on him.

"Good." Darcy sighed, momentary relief coursing through his veins. To hear but not see, to feel but not witness how exactly Georgiana fared had worried him. He knew it to be a shadow of his past - but memories of how Mother had never fully recovered from her first coughs had rendered Darcy a lifelong victim of unwarranted anxiety whenever any one of his loved ones fell ill.

He felt a soft, gentle hand on his arm. Darcy struggled not to stiffen.

With George gone and not in any way replaced, it had been Georgiana all these weeks who had been assisting him places - guiding him as his surrogate eyes. The arrangement had come with its inconveniences, naturally, as there were things meant for a valet more than a sister - and it was inevitable that Georgiana's companionship applied only to certain portions of his daily routines. Still, the arrangement had been welcome.

He doubted they would both have recovered from their respective disappointments so quickly if they had not each other's welfare to protect.

Now, with Georgiana recovering from troubles of her own - it had fallen upon an even less likely character to function as his guide and friend.

"Come, Mr. Darcy. You must eat," Elizabeth coaxed. "You would fall ill yourself soon if you do not."

The nearness of her scent and sound thrilled him.

It was no easy task to feign calm.

Darcy cleared his throat. "Yes, Miss Elizabeth. I thank you. We had sought to welcome you as a guest - and, yet, here we are - needing your help once more."

"It is no trouble."

"But it is." Darcy sighed, hands firmly planted around his walking stick lest they try to take hers.

"Mr. Darcy - "

"I apologize for our rudeness. I - and my sister - have every intent to offer you every comfort during your stay, to provide ample refuge from your recent, shall we say, exasperations. But, lo and behold, here we are - as troublesome as any family could be."

He felt the touch on his arm lighten slightly. He both mourned and needed the change.

"Your sister has been sharing her letters with you, sir?"

"Indeed," he would not lie. He straightened now, regaining a stance of standing more than stooping. He regretfully felt her hand slip away. "I would not have believed it kind of us to extend our invitation if she had not."

"You believed me happier at Hertfordshire."

"Were you - not?"

She did not answer quite immediately, and he longed - more than ever - that he had his eyes to support what he thought she felt.

"One is always happier - with people dear to one's heart," he said.

She made a small hum, as if she agreed with great hesitation and very little resolve.

He took the risk of extending his arm. He nearly stumbled in relief when he felt her take it.

"I hope, Miss Elizabeth, that you do not feel compelled to appreciate what we attempt to offer. We seek to alleviate your distress - and not to add to its sources. If we succeed in our attempts, then God Himself knows our hearts. If we fail - however sincerely - please, do not take it upon yourself to  _have_  to be happy or to  _have_  to be of help."

"Mr. Darcy." She did not say more, merely echoed his name in the laden hallway.

After a moment's deliberation, he leaned upon his walking stick and turned them towards the stairs. "Thank you, Miss Elizabeth, for your many kindnesses. What was it you said about food?"

She laughed softly beside him then, her subtle mirth weaving through her arm and into the tips of her fingers. He cherished the feel of said fingers against the fabric of his sleeve.

"One is always happier - with nourishing food in one's stomach."

He did not have to pretend to laugh. He simply did. And his heart sung the entire way she patiently supported him on their joint journey downstairs.

* * *

"See, Lizzy, I am well!" Georgiana, presumably still guarded by her guest and friend, made large, swishing motions in an apparent attempt to prove her good health. There was a timbre in her voice that still spoke of sickness - the impending weight of a stuffy nose.

"You must still rest," Miss Elizabeth chided.

Darcy sighed and smiled from his seat. The ladies were huddled by the fire, many seats away from where he sat, hot as it was for him and his layers.

He could not help wonder, in times like these, why he bothered asking the servants to dress him so well when he himself could not know what he looked like.

"Mr. Darcy, shall you not convince your sister that she is still ill?" Miss Elizabeth's voice travelled across the room with ease. She must have trained herself well in a house full of enthusiastic young women.

"I hear no complete recovery in her voice," he dutifully replied.

"Fitz! You do not help me!" Georgiana lamented. Yet, even then, despite the pout he heard in her voice - there was a hint of humor as well.

Miss Elizabeth laughed, and his mind conjured an image of how pretty she must look while doing so. "Even blood, though thicker than water, does not aid you, dear."

"It is unfair, Lizzy, for Fitz  _always_  takes your side."

Darcy caught his breath. Was his sister to ruin him as he had come so close to ruining her?

"Nonsense, Georgiana. Your brother stays on the side of  _reason_."

"Reason is often the slave of - " A coughing spell overcame Georgiana, and Darcy found himself half parts worry and half parts relief. He heard Miss Elizabeth quickly assisting his sister, and the choking sounds subsided soon.

Darcy sighed and sat back.

Georgiana sipped from her tea cup before setting it down on its platter. "You are a loving dictator, Lizzy."

"Good, for it was never my aim to be anything but." The smile in Elizabeth's voice was clear - gentle, kind. If he had managed to be the one to fall ill, would Elizabeth have been just as sweet and generous to him?

"You're like my brother, you see," Georgiana continued, perhaps determined to send her only sibling into shock. "You insist too much upon caring."

"That is a great compliment then, for I have never met a man as invested in the lives of his family as he."

"It is not stifling for you?"

"For me?"

"The way Fitzwilliam cares - oh, never mind, I do not know of what I speak."

Darcy listened with bated breath as the sounds in the room implied Elizabeth drawing near to his sister.

Her subsequent words were soft, nearly a whisper, but his many years of relying on his ears had instilled in him the ability to hear even the tiniest kitten's purr.

"Your brother loves you, and he acts with nothing but love for you. Any woman, truly, would be blessed to have the love of a man so loyal, considerate, and good."

His heart swelled and soared so quickly that he nearly thought it would lift him off his chair.

He anchored himself with a quiet sigh.

* * *

_**Six Months Ago** _

* * *

"She is, I tell you, Darce, the most beautiful angel one may ever hope to know - kind, and gracious, and graceful." Bingley's fervor knew no bounds. In Darcy's mind, his friend sat on a throne of clouds, floating slowly away from all sanity into blissful oblivion. "I swear my heart shall never be recovered."

Darcy smiled slightly just as Miss Bingley - ever predictable - launched into her tirade of why this lady was unsuitable.

She was not entirely wrong - for they  _were_  in Hertfordshire for a mere two days, and Bingley  _had_  just met his new angelic being once. But it was silly of the woman to think that her brother could be persuaded. Time and distance were the only things that ever truly succeeded in disillusioning the young new tenant of Netherfield.

"If you could but have seen her, Darce," Bingley pleaded, when his sister's nagging turned sour, "I am most certain you would agree."

Darcy sighed, lightly. His friend was kind, benevolent - they would never have become friends at all if Bingley had been half as friendly of a man as he was.

Tact, however, was neither here nor there in the lists of admirable Bingley family traits.

"I have heard no reasons to doubt her beauty, man," said Darcy, in good faith.

"And what of her kindness and her sweetness and her utterly beguiling charm?"

Darcy almost laughed. His friend was love-sick. It was clear.

It was, also, in a different light, rather glorious.

Darcy shifted on his chair to sit back further. "I don't believe I have sufficient acquaintance of the lady to agree to such claims. And, if I may say so - neither do you."

"I know her - I feel as if I have always known her."

"Feelings are fleeting. Do not let them guide where reason may."

"You do not understand, Darce." Bingley stood up and began to pace to God knows where. "I have met many ladies in my life, I admit. I have chased my own share of skirts - but Miss Bennet is  _different._ "

Darcy listened, patiently.

"She - when one meets the other half of one's soul," Bingley explained with a calm excitement now, "one knows one could never remove her from one's life without tearing a hole in one's own."

Darcy smiled and nodded politely, uninterested in continuing said discussion. He could never persuade Bingley off his latest obsessions. No one ever could, however they tried.

"Miss Bennet is that who is destined to fill my heart," Bingley pledged. "You would know too, Darce, when you meet yours."

"I see." Darcy hoped he kept his musings sufficiently hidden behind a cool, unchanging facade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the overwhelmingly positive response! I have decided to keep the current title. Many of the concerns voiced were similar to my own early on. You guys really helped me sort through my thoughts. Thank you! I hope you'll liked this chapter as well as the last two ahead :)


	17. The Catherine Trap

"Must we play this piece yet again?" Elizabeth questioned, music in hand. She did not sound impatient, but did strike a careful chord between bemusement and exasperation.

Georgiana smiled, content with the secret knowledge that this piece was her brother's favorite.

"I do like it so, Lizzy," she replied.

"Very well."

They proceeded to polish and perform the duet, as they had been doing for the two evenings past. Elizabeth's cooing and caring had resulted in a speedy recovery for Georgiana, and she had been deemed worthy to depart from her fireside pose two days after having assumed it. Fitzwilliam kept to himself during the mornings, secluded in his study with the assistance of their steward and the occasional visit from Elizabeth. It seemed that whatever victuals Elizabeth delivered were always heartily consumed - and Georgiana knew better than to interfere with such a healthy arrangement.

In the evenings, abandoned by the sun and freed from their duties, the siblings and their guest spent time in music and conversation and tea.

Georgiana could hardly wait for tonight to begin.

"Are you certain we ought to be spending our time this way?" Elizabeth asked when they - with due diligence - had completed their second attempt at the song for today.

"I have finished all my lessons," Georgiana bartered. "And unlike my writing or my needlework, Fitzwilliam  _does_  enjoy the music so."

Her honesty earned her a gaze of tender sympathy from Elizabeth. "Yes, of course."

Oh what she would give to have her as a sister in truth!

"Do you like your rooms here, Lizzy? Is the food to your liking? Please  _do_ instruct me as to what adds most to your comfort."

Having recovered fully from her illness now, Georgiana was keen to recover control as well of their guest's every preference and source of joy.

"Do not fret, dear." Elizabeth patted her hand. "I am not one to stay silent if speaking out would ensure an augmentation of my happiness."

Georgiana smiled then, relieved.

"Do not speak hollow words, Lizzy," she insisted, nonetheless. "To promise you would speak for your own happiness is to promise to do so whenever the time arises."

"I shall."

"There is no time too inopportune."

"I understand."

"Be it a thing you ask of me - or of Fitz - or of Mrs. Reynold or anyone here."

Elizabeth laughed. "Yes, Miss Darcy, I promise."

The formal greeting left Georgiana chuckling, and they spent their time laughing in a rather unladylike manner for a few moments more.

She supposed it was rather silly to demand that Elizabeth be more honest.

She had never known a lady more frank and unabashedly confident than Elizabeth.

It was clear that Fitzwilliam adored her - and Georgiana knew it was merely a matter of time, perhaps before their scheduled departure three days hence, that her brother break his barriers and offer for Elizabeth.

She dearly wished Elizabeth would say yes.

A footman's abrupt entry interrupted their light-hearted company.

"A call for Mr. Darcy, Miss Darcy. Presenting Lady Catherine de Bourgh - "

Georgiana stood up immediately, and just in time, for Aunt Catherine barged in no later than the second the word 'Lady' was uttered. She appeared as she always did - adorned with a thousand layers, hair arranged into a regal crown, arms poised in utter command - and terrifying to the utmost.

"Aunt Catherine." Georgiana curtsied, incapable of ignoring the manners her upbringing had instilled.

Aunt Catherine's eyes flitted over her and her friend in rapid inspection - as if evaluating an object too far beneath her notice to humor with a straightforward gaze.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh." It was Elizabeth's turn to greet. It did not escape Georgiana that her friend already knew with whom they currently traded stares.

Aunt Catherine strode forward, her three maids trailing her from behind in muted, dutiful steps.

She stopped abruptly, two yards away. Her eagle eyes searched and landed on their indubitable prey.

"And what is  _your_  name?" She demanded, voice as low and imposing as it had always been.

"Elizabeth Bennet, of Hertfordshire." Another curtsy followed.

Aunt Catherine narrowed her eyes. Her nose crinkled against her painted face.

"And  _this_ is the piece of rubbish that chases after my nephew so?"

"Aunt Catherine!"

"I have heard reports - and doubted them, for some time." The mistress of Rosings Park stepped around Elizabeth, observing her as one would a sculpture or a new chair. "My nephew has ceased to reply to my letters - and I  _must_ know if it is because he is bewitched - or entrapped in his own home."

"Aunt Catherine, Elizabeth would never - "

" _Elizabeth_  now, is it?" Her aunt stopped short, then briefly transferred her gaze to her trembling niece. "And is this the lady whose friend robbed you of Richard's love?"

"Aunt Catherine, I - "

"And yet, here she stands, a cherished guest in Pemberley. Did she not have a sister in  _dalliance_ with that Wickham fellow? Is it not clear by her deportment and attire that her desires for your company - are merely as a stepping stone towards gaining your brother's?"

"Lady Catherine, I am afraid I shall have to offer my defense," spoke Elizabeth.

Georgiana, overwhelmed and overwrought and lost, did the one thing she knew she could.

"Pardon me, Aunt Catherine. I'm afraid I must go."

And she fled the room as quickly as she could - to make a mad dash towards Fitzwilliam's study.

* * *

"And if the damage done by your sister and your friend were not enough - you invited yourself  _here_ , in unabashed pursuit of my nephew and his fortune," the opulent lady continued, unstoppable.

Elizabeth stood, where she did ever since Georgiana slipped away, and took every word of challenge with a rising courage she did not know she had possessed. Her eyes remained fixed, continually, on her assailant's face.

"Your family's behavior is abhorrent, shameless to the utmost degree."

"Lady Catherine," Elizabeth replied, "whatever insults you may wish to pile upon me - I am more than willing to defend. My family, I hope, shall not be judged without their presence."

"And have I said a word that is untrue? Has your sister not entrapped Fitzwilliam's friend and your neighbor broken Richard's engagement to poor Georgiana? And yet, here you stand - an honored guest - a wolf in sheep's skin."

"Lady Catherine, again, I must remind you. I am here purely on Georgiana's invitation alone."

"But were you not  _happy_ to have received said invitation?"

"It is, of course, an honor."

"Did you not - in ingenuity and subterfuge - reveal to my impressionable niece that you would be much happier here than in your own home?"

"The contents of my correspondences with Georgiana ought not to be so interpreted, madam."

"Ah, so you admit it then?" There was a self-righteousness to the woman's tones, an air of a person who was accustomed to always being right. She occupied the entire couch as if she owned it - silks and sashes and trains draped over every inch of the now-invisible furniture. "You acknowledge that you wish to be in Pemberley."

"I have made no such profession."

"So shall you be happier tonight, then, when you and your trunks of rubbish are tossed back to Hertfordshire, where they rightfully belong?"

Elizabeth blinked, a slight sadness casting a shadow over her former confidence. "If it is Mr. and Miss Darcy's express wish that I return home, I would not dare to stay another minute."

"Right." The lady nodded, seemingly satisfied. "Then why do you tarry then? You are not a foolish girl."

"No," Elizabeth agreed, just this once. "I am not foolish enough to know when I am welcome - and when I am not."

Lady Catherine's narrowed eyes looked very much like a hawk's. "And what do these  _senses_ of yours suggest now?"

"I shall - " Elizabeth reigned in her racing heart and breath. She  _refused_ to lose her composure before the brute of a woman. "I believe I shall consult the master himself - as I had not been previously made aware that he despised my presence here. It would be but proper for me to take my leave."

"I have known my nephew and niece since their births. Where they seek to be pleasing and circumspect, I seek to be frank and certain." Lady Catherine crossed her arms against each other, embroidered sleeves all glimmering under the generous sun rays Pemberley's nature-loving windows provided. "You should not have come, Miss Bennet, and furthermore should not have taken residence in the family wing."

For one quick moment, Elizabeth was truly taken aback.

What powers of omniscience did this woman have?

"I take only the rooms offered me by my generous hosts."

"Hosts whom, I have reason to believe, have fallen under your wicked spell."

"I have cast no spells, Lady Catherine. I doubt anyone as discerning as Mr. and Miss Darcy would ever fall under  _any_  spell."

"A woman with little to commend her - no dowry, no connections, no fame - inevitably grooms herself in  _other_  sorts of arts. My daughter Anne, meant for her cousin from birth, is a much more suitable bride for the master of Pemberley."

"I do not deny the equality of their births, madam."

"And yet you insist upon intruding?"

"I - I have no designs - no presumptions - that I am worthy of the romantic attentions of Mr. Darcy or any of your nephews, Lady Catherine."

"Good. You are not as foolish as I have been led to believe."

Elizabeth permitted herself a long, searching breath.

"And you shall pack your trunks this very instant - and take your leave for home?"

"I shall do whatever my hosts and friends demand."

"And what if your  _friends_  do not know what they truly want? What if your - " Haughty eyes roamed dismissively down Elizabeth's body. "If your  _charms_  have deluded my nephew to seek what he ought not to seek?"

Elizabeth sighed. "Mr. Darcy has been nothing but a perfect gentlemen, madam. If he truly  _did_ care for your daughter, then he would surely not permit himself any attentions to any women apart from her."

"Do you promise then - never to engage his attentions?"

"Despite my lowliness of birth, I have no selfish designs upon your nephew."

"You do not care for him then - and promise to cease any sentiment you have fostered betwixt you and him?"

"I - " Elizabeth sighed. Her eyes wandered to the floor briefly before resuming their stare upon her sudden visitor. "I shall make no such promise."

"Are you so adamant that you shall receive your prize? Do you fool yourself into believing that any connection to  _you_ could ever bring about any goodness for  _him_?"

"In the eyes of the world, I must acknowledge that there is little I can bring to a marriage."

"And yet still - you insist?"

"I insist - I do  _not_ insist, Lady Catherine, upon anything regarding your nephew's actions." For one moment, Elizabeth watched the great lady watch her. "I merely insist upon  _my_ own feelings - regardless of whether or not they are requited. I insist upon admiring a man whose goodness and kindness run far deeper than any of his coffers ever could. I insist upon tendering whatever help I am equipped to offer to a brother and sister wounded by the betrayal of their family and friends. I insist upon caring, upon loving. I am not foolish enough to expect any of these sentiments to be returned."

Lady Catherine shifted, as if smoothing her ruffled feathers.

"I love whom I love, Lady Catherine." Elizabeth's voice returned to their previous calm. "And I cannot promise that I would cease what there is no law to govern."

"What an utterly  _shameless social animal_."

"No," a male voice emerged, bringing to sight Pemberley's glowering master. "She has no reason for shame. It is you, Aunt Catherine, who ought to think twice over what you have chosen to do."

* * *

**_Six Weeks Ago_ **

* * *

"Will you be happy, Char, taken far away from home - with barracks and tents and guest houses as your home?" Elizabeth, wistful despite her age, mused with her friend the final evening of her days as Miss Charlotte Lucas.

"Where there is love, one can surely conquer even the most tawdry of lives." Charlotte sounded calmly resolute.

"Do you not fear the strangeness of it all - the men and his family - the - the rumors of the wedding eve?" Even Jane, for all her timidity, spoke plainly tonight.

Soon, their party would be required to return to Longbourn. Soon, it would just be the Lucas clan in this home - holding a final vigil towards a new hope, a new tomorrow. A tomorrow where even spinster ladies found true love with the children of an earl flamed pretty hopes in many hearts indeed.

Charlotte sighed - happily, it seemed. "Oh Jane, oh Lizzy - when love comes, there is nothing we would not do for it."

"Even to give up one's life," suggested Elizabeth.

"Yes, even then. And, yes, Jane - the gentleness of Richard's hand on mine can only lead to further gentleness in every way we unite - would it not? To be granted the hope and the chance to live my life with my beloved - there is no price too great and no happiness too unreachable."

Elizabeth smiled, awed and mystified by the transformation love had wrought upon her sensible friend.

Who knew there would come a day when logical, practical Charlotte would be so willing to throw all caution to the wind?

"You are utterly shameless, Char," teased Elizabeth.

Her friend, eyes starry, giggled. "When love comes for you, Lizzy, I dare say you would never let something as silly as shame get in your way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That conversation between Lady Catherine and Elizabeth was one of the most difficult yet exciting things to write among all my attempts at JAFF. I hope it was enjoyable to read! One more chapter to go :)


	18. The Final Engagement

"The  _audacity_!" Aunt Catherine thundered, voice reverberating through every seat, spot, and corner of the room.

"I am the master of Pemberley." Darcy stood behind the nearest chair his hands could find. "I grant passage to my home as I deem appropriate. You, dear aunt, have not been invited."

"Has her claws sunk so low into your skin that you do not see? Or have you never seen - at all?"

He felt Elizabeth draw closer to him.

Her presence lent him courage.

"My physical limitations do not extend to my perception of character."

"And what have you perceived?"

Darcy paused, a moment's deliberation at the threshold of a lifetime. Then he felt it - the soft, gentle touch of a feminine hand - lavender and mint - curling around the crook of his arm. He took it all in, heart rising.

"If I have found happiness, Aunt, shall you not congratulate me?"

"And, pray, what happiness is there to be found in an alliance with the least among us?"

"Elizabeth is a gentleman's daughter, and I a gentleman's son," he risked the implication that there was indeed a possibility of an alliance between them. He drew strength from the fact that her hand still remained upon his sleeve. "We are of similar faith and country and of matching dispositions. Is it altogether difficult to understand how such a partnership could sustain me?"

"She shall end you, Fitzwilliam," Aunt Catherine warned, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the woman she spoke of still stood in the very room, beside him. "And with it, your legacy and home."

Or, perhaps, it  _was_ Elizabeth's presence beside him that spurred his aunt's unceasing fury.

"I am no perfect man, Aunt Catherine," he replied. "I have never professed to be - and I ought truly to be grateful if a woman of character as beautiful as hers deems me worthy of her affections and esteem."

"And what of Anne?"

Darcy frowned. The confrontation was inevitable.

"She and I have never matched."

"Your consequences of birth, your families and bloodlines - shall it all be for naught?"

"The freedom and privilege of seeking and finding a woman whose temperament, beauty, and character correspond so wholly with mine is in and of themselves the greatest gifts one's heritage may offer."

"Beauty, you say?" He could hear Aunt Catherine preen. "And what if all reports of her guile have been a carefully-constructed falsehood? God knows how easily your sister is fooled."

"Enough, Aunt Catherine!" It was his turn to bellow. "You  _shall not_ remain in my house if you insist in insulting its every occupant."

Elizabeth rubbed his arm gently, as one would the back of a sick child.

After an entire minute, he heard his aunt stand at last.

"I wash my hands from the entire affair. Salvage, I have tried - yet irresolute, you remain."

He heard her and her entourage stalk out the room, and the building, with little to no regret.

* * *

Many moments later, he sat upon the seat he had found soon after his aunt's exit - and listened, gingerly, to any sound of Elizabeth moving elsewhere. It both calmed and riveted his heart that he found no such noises. Georgiana had graciously left them alone - and Darcy's mind barely considered that any staff member of the household could be keeping them under watchful eyes.

For all intents and purposes, he was alone - with the woman he loved.

He cleared his throat, for the second time since finding himself in his current predicament. He felt her skirts rustle - knew she seated herself a mere two steps away. If his aimless staggering had landed himself upon a chaise instead of an upright chair, she might have chosen to share his sitting place.

The thought thrilled him, and he struggled to remain calm.

"Elizabeth," he ventured, when no other sounds came.

"Yes - Mr. Darcy."

Her ready reply implied that she had been observing him as keenly as he had been observing her.

He cleared his throat, yet again.

He felt her lean closer - a whiff of her scent drifting just that much nearer.

"I am afraid that I owe you an apology."

"Sir, on the contrary - it is I who owe you every thanks."

Darcy lowered his head, feeling slightly wretched for being so unhappy with her gratitude. It was a sentiment of an entire different sort that he sought.

"I'm afraid I had exhausted my patience - and wit - with our lovely guest. It was most fortunate that you entered when you did," she spoke gently, a smile in her voice.

Darcy felt himself smiling as well.

Dared he try again? Dared he venture into uncharted territory - once more, for her?

"You stated to my aunt, not long before I arrived, that you loved whom you love - and could not promise that you would cease what there was no law to govern." He timed his words carefully, sensitive to her every breath and movement. She offered nearly none of either. "I agree with you, Miss Elizabeth - that there exist no human reasons to thwart the love between a single man and a single woman when God had instilled none Himself. Death alone can divide two people who care deeply for each other - distance cannot, age cannot, social differences -  _physical_ differences could not pose a threat to those destined to share their hearts and lives."

He felt her remain where she did.

"And so I hope, Miss Elizabeth," he continued, heart in his throat, "that you would not dissuade - nay, that you might even  _encourage_ me - if I were to launch into pursuit of a woman whose feelings I have cause to believe mirror my own. My movement is finite. Where other men can gallantly ride to court their brides-to-be, I can only sit - in my home - a helpless, awkward heap of a man as I struggle to make out the words I dearly wish to express. Yet, still, I try.

"Elizabeth, forgive me, for the haphazard proposal I had previously offered. You did not deserve my pride - nor my assumptions. You should not have been presented with my detachment, when the heart that beats for you thrives so vividly underneath. Elizabeth, please, if you have but half the kindness I know you possess, consider once more my - "

"Mr. Darcy." He felt her kneel by his feet, felt her gathering his hands between her own bare fingers. Her touch was heaven itself. "Fitzwilliam."

He leaned down, hungry for her presence.

"What do you ask, sir?" Her plea was crisp, clear - unwavering.

"Will you marry me, Elizabeth?"

"Yes, yes, Fitzwilliam - the honor - "

Her lingering words remained unspoken as she pulled herself against his chest in a dear, tight embrace. He held her closely, nose buried against her hair. The pains of the past melted away, in rapid succession, in the light of this beautiful spring.

"Elizabeth," he whispered, and she pulled herself closer still.

A few more moments in warm embrace gave way quickly to his pressing a gentle, timid kiss against her cheek. She responded immediately, doing likewise to his cheek. He turned his head slowly, feeling her actions meet him muscle for muscle. Their first kiss was sweet, gentle, a promise of many, many joys to come.

It took a squealing Georgiana to break the spell.

* * *

The following days, as far as Elizabeth was concerned, were spent hoping and dreaming even as her hands busied themselves with helping and packing. Dreams, so vague before - took on a distinctive color now, a vibrancy they had never had before. Departing from Pemberley was no longer an act of finality; visiting Longbourn was no longer truly going home.

Georgiana, despite her expressive discovery of their betrothal, remained the best of confidantes and did everything she could to loosely chaperone her brother and his bride-to-be. The mutual agreement that they would keep news of their engagement quiet until Fitzwilliam could speak to her father after Jane and Bingley's wedding fostered a sweet intimacy gained only by the tender thrill of a shared secret.

"Lizzy," her dear fiancée would call her, whenever he stood close to her by the fire.

"Fitzwilliam," she would coo back at him, whenever Georgiana lingered slightly farther away for their sakes.

The trip to Hertfordshire buoyed itself the entire way with optimism and cheer. The Darcy siblings spoke openly and happily - one lightened by her escape from the shadow of heartbreak, the other brightened by his own newfound foray into romance. Elizabeth herself drank it all in, with a heart swelling twice its size every passing day.

Jane's wedding was beautiful - as joyful as it had always been meant to be. The groom beamed with pride; the bride blushed with a strong, quiet delight. Even Miss Bingley's surly faces did not spoil the day too much - and Mama's effusions were, for once, of the warranted sort.

"Have you ever seen a bride so lovely as my Jane?" Mama declared, as the guests piled into Longbourn.

Elizabeth smiled and agreed that she had never - nor will ever - meet an English bride as radiant as her sister. Georgiana cleared her throat slightly, perhaps suppressing a chuckle, before slipping away to assist her brother towards a particular part of the house.

Elizabeth smiled, despite the tremors in her heart.

Papa's summoning happened soon enough - and she was promptly questioned over the sincerity of her choice. It took little effort to convince Papa that she loved Mr. Darcy dearly, that she longed to spend her life with a man as resilient and caring as he. Papa watched with a glint in his eyes as she took her fiancé's hand. She wondered if it was bemusement or tears.

Mama took the news the very next day with as theatrical of a response as was to be expected. Even Kitty and Lydia, for all their silliness, seemed heartfelt in their shared wonder over their sister's good fortune. Georgiana called every day she could, a welcome new sister among Longbourn's ranks. Miss Bingley, who was  _already_ a sister, received much less enthusiastic reception whenever she did deign to appear.

Having spent all she could on Jane's wedding, Mama had no choice but to offer Elizabeth the much subtler, simpler wedding the latter had preferred all along. A short engagement - the bare minimum for the bans to be read, really - ensured that Elizabeth was soon handed to her tall, handsome groom on a crisp autumn day, her skirts ruffling around her just that much louder to apprise him of her every movement.

The wedding breakfast flitted by in a happy blur, and Elizabeth admittedly enjoyed her final gathering in the neighborhood she had always called home.

Still, nothing compared, quite naturally, to her vigil beside her new husband - her hand on his arm, and his voice by her ear. His need for physical aid created an entirely unexpected, though welcome, aspect to their newlywed bliss - for who could blame a dutiful wife for supporting her husband in public, her arm and body securely anchored against his own?

With the London season still lurking rather far beneath the horizon, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy enjoyed a few precious months on their own - basking in the comforts of Derbyshire in place of the more popular choice of touring the continent. Richard and Charlotte visited once, and Jane and Bingley did their own round as well. Elizabeth Darcy corresponded faithfully with her family and friends - and soon learned to be her husband's most dedicated scribe as well.

Marriage and its wonders - from the quiet moments by the fire, to the frosty morning garden trails, to the tenderness of sharing the family's favorite dishes, to the passion and ardor of the bedroom - unfolded themselves each day, illuminating Elizabeth's life in angles she had previously never considered as ever having existed.

Her husband had his own brand of stubbornness - as did she. Poor Georgiana had her share of moments when she either had to urge her fellow residents to simply  _stop_ and  _talk_  - or simply give up and desert the drawing room for the night. The process of searching, identifying, and condemning Lady Catherine's spies in the household proved to be a taxing, painful process. There was tenderness, then there were tears. There was silliness, then there was gravity and tension of the most compelling sort.

What her husband could not see, she saw for him. What she had never noticed, he directed her to see.

Why had she ever doubted, even for a moment, that true love would ever come?

* * *

_**Eighteen Months Later** _

* * *

"And what if I fail to secure him?" He asked - uncertain if he ought to do the very thing he longed to do most at the time.

He felt Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder. She must have been holding the babe - his son,  _their_ son - in her other arm.

The were limitless new ways to love her still.

"You can feel him. You would not drop him," she assured.

Then she leaned down, a heavy womanly scent gracing her person now, with her confinement having barred her from her garden rambles in recent days - and she slid the shifting bundle into his large, awkward arms.

The effect was immediate, his heart brimming with so much wonder and awe that he barely knew how his chest remained intact. The bundle shuffled, moving as if it were a sac of water with the occasional firmer curve. He felt his wife guide his arms closer to one another, encasing the infant in a safe human cradle.

Young Bennie murmured gently. His mother patted his side until he settled once more.

Darcy tried, in incremental movements, to ply his hands until they molded more naturally against the shifting babe's body.

"He looks like you," said Elizabeth, ten long heartbeats later.

"He smells like you," he replied.

His wife chuckled softly. Darcy momentarily forgot every fear he had ever had when she had first informed him that she was most certainly with child, with his child. He feared many things - many shortcomings that both his character and lack of eyesight would inevitably create. He wondered at how her body changed under his hands, and he mapped her figure hungrily throughout many a ravenous night. Then her time had come - and he nearly hurt himself at the sounds of her anguish.

"You shall be the best of fathers, Fitzwilliam."

His wife knew him well enough to reply without his asking.

Darcy felt himself smile, a thousand words failing to create one coherent thought upon his tongue.

"You are a wonderful mother."

"And  _we_ shall teach him so many things."

Bennie wiggled in his arms as if he concurred as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this! This chapter is one of my favorites, not just in this story but among all the ones I've ever written. That last scene was inspired heavily by the relationship between blind singer Andrea Bocelli and his son. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> It's bittersweet for me to end this story, since I have poured so, so much of myself into it. Thank you so much to everyone who has been encouraging me about this. So very often, writer persevere because readers do.
> 
> Thank you for giving my stories an audience!


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